The Past Is Gained, Secure, And On

But Little Do Or Can The Best Of Us: That Little Is Achieved Through Liberty.

I Know What I Want And What I Might Gain, And Yet, How Profitless To Know.

Sing, Riding 's A Joy! For Me I Ride.

In Heaven I Yearn For Knowledge, Account All Else Inanity; On Earth I Confess An Itch For The Praise Of Fools - That's Vanity

That Great Brow And The Spirit-small Hand Propping It.