We Spoil Ourselves With Scruples Long As

Justice Turns The Scale, Bringing To Some Learning Through Suffering.

The Seed Of Mortals Broods O'er Passing Things, And Hath Nought Surer Than The Smoke-cloud's Shadow.

The Man Who Boldly Transgresses, Amassing A Great Heap Unjustly--by Force, In Time, He Will Strike His Sail, When Trouble Seizes Him As The Yardarm Is Splintered. He Calls On Those Who Hear Nothing And He Struggles In The Midst Of The Whirling Waters. The God Laughs At The Hot-headed Man, Seeing Him, Who Boasted That This Would Never Happen, Exhausted By Distress Without Remedy And Unable To Surmount The Cresting Wave. He Wrecks The Happiness Of His Earlier Life On The Reef Of Justice, And He Perishes Unwept, Unseen.

There Is No Disgrace In An Enemy Suffering Ill At An Enemy's Hand, When You Hate Mutually.

I Would Rather Be Ignorant Than Knowledgeable Of Evils.