Not One Drop Of Blood Is Left

Give Unto Us This Day The Daily Manna Without Which, In This Desert Where We Dwell, He Must Go Backward Who Would Most Advance.

O Mortal Men, Be Wary Of How Ye Judge.

Often A Retrospect Delights The Mind.

O You Proud Christians, Wretched Souls And Small,/ Who By The Dim Lights Of Your Twisted Minds/ Believe You Prosper Even As You Fall,/ Can You Not See That We Are Worms, Each One/ Born To Become The Angelic Butterfly/ That Flies Defenseless To The Judgement Throne?

What Shall One Do With The Verse, If He Knows Not That?