The Grave Unites; Where E'en The Great

Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confused; Still By Himself Abused Or Disabused; Created Half To Rise, And Half To Fall; Great Lord Of All Things, Yet A Prey To All; Sole Judge Of Truth, In Endless Error Hurled,- The Glory, Jest, And Riddle Of The World.

Tis Use Alone That Sanctifies Expense And Splendor Borrow All Her Rays From Sense.

The Lights And Shades, Whose Well-accorded Strife Gives All The Strength And Color Of Our Life.

Thus Unlamented Pass The Proud Away, The Gaze Of Fools And Pageant Of A Day; So Perish All, Whose Breast Ne'er Learn'd To Glow For Others' Good, Or Melt At Others' Woe.

An Excuse Is Worse And More Terrible Than A Lie; For An Excuse Is A Lie Guarded.