Tears Such As Angels Weep.

Freely They Stood Who Stood, And Fell Who Fell.

Neither Prosperity Nor Empire Nor Heaven Can Be Worth Winning At The Price Of A Virulent Temper, Bloody Hands, An Anguished Spirit, And A Vain Hatred Of The Rest Of The World.

What Neat Repast Shall Feast Us, Light And Choice, Of Attic Taste?

When Thou Attended Gloriously From Heaven , Shalt In The Sky Appear, And From Thee Send Thy Summoning Archangels To Proclaim Thy Dread Tribunal.

Dim Eclipse, Disastrous Twilight.