Not One Drop Of Blood

O How Far Remov'd, Predestination! Is Thy Foot From Such As See Not The First Cause Entire: And Ye, O Mortal Men! Be Wary How Ye Judge: For We, Who See The Maker, Know Not Yet The Number Of The Chosen; And Esteem Such Scantiness Of Knowledge Our Delight: For All Good Is, In That Primal Good, Concentrate; And God's Will And Ours Are One.

Honor Is The Greatest Poet.

O Mortal Men, Be Wary Of How Ye Judge.

Justice Divine Has Weighed: The Doom Is Clear. All Hope Renounce, Ye Lost, Who Enter Here.

All Of Nature Is God's Art.