How Blunt Are All The

When It Draws Near To Witching Time Of Night.

How Shocking Must Thy Summons Be, O Death, To Him That Is At Ease In His Possessions! Who, Counting On Long Years Of Pleasure Here, Is Quite Unfurnished For The World To Come.

But If There Be An Hereafter,and That There Is, Conscience, Uninfluenc'dand Suffer'd To Speak Out, Tells Every Man,then Must It Be An Awful Thing To Die;more Horrid Yet To Die By One's Own Hand.

Beauty! Thou Pretty Plaything! Dear Deceit, That Steals So Softly O'er The Stripling's Heart, And Gives It A New Pulse Unknown Before!

Action, So To Speak, Is The Genius Of Nature.