To Live A Life Half Dead, A

The Leaf Was Darkish, And Had Prickles On It, But In Another Country, As He Said, Bore A Bright Golden Flow'r, But Not In This Soil; Unknown, And Like Esteem'd, And The Dull Swain Treads On It Daily With His Clouted Shoon.

The End Of All Learning Is To Know God, And Out Of That Knowledge To Love And Imitate Him.

Who, As They Sung, Would Take The Prison'd Soul And Lap It In Elysium.

What Honour That, But Tedious Waste Of Time, To Sit And Hear So Many Hollow Compliments And Lies.

Freely We Serve, Because Freely We Love.