Death, Thou Shalt Die.

How Imperfect Is All Our Knowledge!

Thou Art Slave To Fate, Chance, Kings, And Desperate Men, And Dost With Poison, War, And Sickness Dwell, And Poppy, Or Charms, Can Make Us Sleep As Well, And Better Than Thy Stroke. Why Swell'st Thou Then?

My World's Both Parts, And 'o! Both Parts Must Die.

'tis The Year's Midnight, And It Is The Day's.

God Affords No Man The Comfort, The False Comfort Of Atheism: He Will Not Allow A Pretending Atheist The Power To Flatter Himself, So Far, As To Seriously Think There Is No God.