Heaven Hears And Pities Hapless Men Like

By Turns The Nine Delight To Sing

'yea And I Beheld Sisyphus In Strong Torment, Grasping A Monstrous Stone With Both His Hands. He Was Pressing Thereat With Hands And Feet, And Trying To Roll The Stone Upward Toward The Brow Of The Hill. But Oft As He Was About To Hurl It Over The Top, The Weight Would Drive Him Back, So Once Again To The Plain Rolled The Stone, The Shameless Thing. And He Once More Kept Heaving And Straining, And The Sweat The While Was Pouring Down His Limbs, And The Dust Rose Upwards From His Head.

Oh, Everything Looks Bad If You Remember It.

I, For One, Know Of No Sweeter Sight For A Man's Eyes Than His Own Country.

Just Are The Ways Of Heaven; From Heaven Proceed The Woes Of Man: Heaven Doom'd The Greeks To Bleed.