Men Grow Tired Of Sleep, Love, Singing

It's Disgraceful How These Humans Blame The Gods. They Say Their Tribulations Come From Us, When They Themselves, Through Their Own Foolishness, Bring Hardships Which Are Not Decreed By Fate.

Boy, Those Germans Have A Word For Everything!

Rather I'd Choose Laboriously To Bear A Weight Of Woes, And Breathe The Vital Air, A Slave To Some Poor Hind That Toils For Bread, Than Reign The Sceptred Monarch Of The Dead.

Forgetful Youth! But Know, The Power Above With Ease Can Save Each Object Of His Love; Wide As His Will Extends His Boundless Grace.

Like Leaves On Trees The Race Of Man Is Found,- Now Green In Youth, Now Withering On The Ground; Another Race The Following Spring Supplies: They Fall Successive, And Successive Rise.