Of Joys Departed, Not To

Whistling Aloud To Bear His Courage Up.

The Best-concerted Schemes Men Lay For Fame, Die Fast Away: Only Themselves Die Faster. The Far-fam'd Sculptor, And The Laurell'd Bard, Those Bold Insurancers Of Deathless Fame, Supply Their Little Feeble Aids In Vain.

Our Time Is Fixed, And All Our Days Are Number'd; How Long, How Short, We Know Not:—this We Know, Duty Requires We Calmly Wait The Summons, Nor Dare To Stir Till Heaven Shall Give Permission.

When It Draws Near To Witching Time Of Night.

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