O! For A Muse Of

Merciful Heaven, Thou Rather With Thy Sharp And Sulphurous Bolt Splits The Unwedgeable And Gnarled Oak Than The Soft Myrtle; But Man, Proud Man, Dressed In A Little Brief Authority, Most Ignorant Of What He's Most Assured His Glassy Essence--like An Angry Ape Plays Such Fantastic Tricks Before High Heaven As Makes The Angels Weep; Who, With Our Spleens, Would All Themselves Laugh Mortal.

I Say There Is No Darkness But Ignorance.

Do Not Plunge Thyself Too Far In Anger.

Now Join Your Hands, And With Your Hands Your Hearts.

Still Constant Is A Wondrous Excellence.