Still Desiring, We Live Without Hope.

The Infernal Storm, Eternal In Its Rage, Sweeps And Drives The Spirits With Its Blast; It Whirls Them, Lashing Them With Punishment. When They Are Swept Back Past Their Place Of Judgment Then Come The Shrieks, Laments, And Anguished Cries; There They Blaspheme God's Almighty Power.

Ah! Justice Of Our God! Who Else Could Stow Such Travails New And Pains As Met My Glance!

The Hottest Places In Hell Are Reserved For Those Who, In Time Of Great Moral Crisis, Maintain Their Neutrality. [this Miserable Mode Maintain The Melancholy Souls Of Those Who Lived Withouten Infamy Or Praise.]

In Judgement Be Ye Not Too Confident, Even As A Man Who Will Appraise His Corn When Standing In A Field, Ere It Is Ripe.

As Fall The Light Autumnal Leaves, One Still The Other Following, Till The Bough Strews All Its Honors On The Earth Below.