The Race By Vigour, Not By Vaunts,

Some Place The Bliss In Action, Some In Ease, Those Call It Pleasure, And Contentment These.

Cursed Be The Verse, How Well So E'er It Flow, That Tends To Make One Worthy Man My Foe.

Dear Fatal Name! Rest Ever Unreveal'd, Nor Pass These Lips In Holy Silence Seal'd. Hide It, My Heart, Within That Close Disguise, Where Mixed With Gods, His Lov'd Idea Lies: O Write It Not, My Hand - The Name Appears Already Written - Wash It Out, My Tears! In Vain Lost Eloisa Weeps And Prays, Her Heart Still Dictates, And Her Hand Obeyes.

The Laughers Are A Majority.

He Who Serves His Brother Best Gets Nearer God Than All The Rest.