The World's History Is The World's Judgment.

Satisfy A Few To Please Many Is Bad.

O The Eye's Light Is A Noble Gift Of Heaven! All Beings Live From Light, Each Fair Created Thing; The Very Plants Turn With A Joyful Transport To The Light.

Man Ever Talks, And Man Ever Dreams Of Better Days That Are Yet To Be, After Glittering Goal, That Distant Gleams, Running And Racing Untiringly. The Worldly May Grow Old And Young As It Will, But The Hope Of Man Is Improvement Still. Hope Bears Him Into Life In Her Arms, She Flutters Around The Boy's Young Bloom, The Soul Of Youth With Her Magic Warms, Nor Rests With Age In The Silent Tomb; For Ends Man His Weary Course At The Grave, There Plants He Hope O'er His Ashes To Wave.

A Noble Heart Will Always Capitulate To Reason.

Live With Your Century; But Do Not Be Its Creature.