Some People Are Commended For

The Lights And Shades, Whose Well-accorded Strife Gives All The Strength And Color Of Our Life.

No More The Mounting Larks, While Daphne Sings, Shall, List'ning, In Mid-air Suspend Their Wings.

In Pride, In Reas'ning Pride, Our Error Lies; All Quit Their Sphere And Rush Into The Skies. Pride Still Is Aiming At The Bless'd Abodes, Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

The Vanity Of Human Life Is Like A River, Constantly Passing Away, And Yet Constantly Coming On.

Those Move Easiest Who Have Learn'd To Dance.