Man Hath His Daily Work

And, When Night Darkens The Streets, Then Wander Forth The Sons Of Belial, Flown With Insolence And Wine.

Thoughts That Voluntary Move Harmonious Numbers.

From Morn To Noon He Fell, From Noon To Dewy Eve,- A Summer's Day; And With The Setting Sun Dropp'd From The Zenith Like A Falling Star.

He Who Tempts, Though In Vain, At Last Asperses The Tempted With Dishonor Foul, Supposed Not Incorruptible Of Faith, Not Proof Against Temptation.

So Shall The World Go On, To Good Malignant, To Bad Men Benign, Under Her Own Weight Groaning.