The Work Of A Correct

It Is Astonishing That Any Man Can Forbear Enquiring Seriously Whether There Is A God; Whether God Is Just; Whether This Life Is The Only State Of Existence.

The Violence Of War Admits No Distinction; The Lance, That Is Lifted At Guilt And Power, Will Sometimes Fall On Innocence And Gentleness.

Merriment Is Always The Effect Of A Sudden Impression. The Jest Which Is Expected Is Already Destroyed.

Of All The Grief's That Harass The Distressed; Sure The Most Bitter Is A Scornful Jest.

Yet Reason Frowns In War's Unequal Game, Where Wasted Nations Raise A Single Name; And Mortgag'd States Their Grandsire's Wreaths Regret, From Age To Age In Everlasting Debt; Wreaths Which At Last The Dear-bought Right Convey To Rust On Medals, Or On Stones Decay.