The moving light, rejoicing in its strength, Sped from the pyre of pine, and urged its way, In golden glory, like some strange new sun.

For the mighty, even to give away is grace.

They sent forth men to battle, But no such men return; And home, to claim their welcome, Come ashes in an urn

God ever works with those who work with will.

For children preserve the fame of a man after his death.

You have been trapped in the inescapable net of ruin by your own want of sense.

By polluting clear water with slime you will never find good drinking water.