Whither depart the souls of the brave that die in the battle, Die in the lost, lost fight, for the cause that perishes with them?

Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat, When it's so lucrative to cheat.

Grace is given of god, but knowledge is bought in the market.

It fortifies my soul to know That, though I perish, Truth is so: That, howsoe'er I stray and range, Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change. I steadier step when I recall That, if I slip Thou dost not fall.

My wind is turned to bitter north, That was so soft a south before; My sky, that shone so sunny bright, With foggy gloom is clouded o'er My gay green leaves are yellow-black, Upon the dank autumnal floor; For love, departed once, comes back No more again, no more.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars.

Thou shalt not kill; but needst not strive officiously to keep alive.