The Low'ring Element Scowls O'er The Darken'd

Morn, Wak'd By The Circling Hours, With Rosy Hand Unbarr'd The Gates Of Light.

Time, Though In Eternity, Applied To Motion, Measures All Things Durable By Present, Past, And Future.

His Sleep Was Aery Light, From Pure Digestion Bred.

The Pious And Just Honoring Of Ourselves May Be Thought The Fountainhead From Whence Every Laudable And Worthy Enterprise Issues Forth.

Nothing Profits More Than Self-esteem, Grounded On What Is Just And Right.