Grief Is Itself A Medicine.

Glory, Built On Selfish Principles, Is Shame And Guilt.

Man In Society Is Like A Flow'r, Blown In Its Native Bed. 'tis There Alone His Faculties Expanded In Full Bloom Shine Out, There Only Reach Their Proper Use.

Lights Of The World, And Stars Of Human Race.

Absence From Whom We Love Is Worse Than Death, And Frustrates Hope Severer Than Despair.

He Is The Freeman Whom The Truth Makes Free, And All Are Slaves Besides.