The Young May Die, But The Old

Our Hearts Are Lamps For Ever Burning.

With Useless Endeavour Forever, Forever, Is Sisyphus Rolling His Stone Up The Mountain!

In This World A Man Must Either Be Anvil Or Hammer.

There Is No Death! What Seems So Is Transition; This Life Of Mortal Breath Is But A Suburb Of The Life Elysian, Whose Portal We Call Death.

Some Must Follow And Some Command, Through All Are Made Oclay.