Think With Awe On The Slow And

Have Love. Not Love Alone For One, But Man As Man They Brother Call; And Scatter Like The Circling Sun Thy Charities On All.

Soon Is The Struggle Past, And To The Earth, To The Eternal Sun, I Render Back These Atoms, Joined In Me For Pain And Pleasure.

Death Is A Mighty Mediator. There All The Flames Of Rage Are Extinguished, Hatred Is Appeased, And Angelic Pity, Like A Weeping Sister, Bends With Gentle And Close Embrace Over The Funeral Urn.

He Who Considers Too Much Will Perform Little.

This Is The Curse Of An Evil Deed, That It Incites And Must Bring Forth More Evil.