In The Woods We Return To Reason

The Hand That Rounded Peter's Dome, And Groined The Aisles Of Christian Rome, Wrought In A Sad Sincerity; Himself From God He Could Not Free; He Builded Better Than He Knew: The Conscious Stone To Beauty Grew.

Nature Hates Monopolies And Exceptions.

The Life Of Labor Does Not Make Men, But Drudges.

Virtue Runs Before The Muse, And Defies Her Skill; She Is Rapt And Doth Refuse To Wait A Painter's Will.

A Nation, Like A Tree, Does Not Thrive Well Till It Is Engraffed With A Foreign Stock.