Music, The Mosaic Of The

As Lines, So Loves Oblique, May Well Themselves In Every Angle Greet; But Ours, So Truly Parallel, Though Infinite, Can Never Meet.

Let Us Roll All Our Strength, And All Our Sweetness, Up Into One Ball: And Tear Our Pleasures With Rough Strife, Through The Iron Gates Of Life. Thus, Though We Cannot Make Our Sun Stand Still, Yet We Will Make Him Run.

And All The Way, To Guide Their Chime, With Falling Oars They Kept Their Time.

Self-preservation, Nature's First Great Law, All The Creatures, Except Man, Doth Awe.

And Yonder All Before Us Lie Deserts Of Vast Eternity.