Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.

What! I should call on that Infinite Love that has served us so well? Infinite cruelty rather, that made everlasting hell, Made us, foreknew us, foredoom'd us, and does what he will with his own; Better our dead brute mother who never has heard us groan.

O son, thou hast not true humility, The highest virtue, mother of them all; But her thou hast not know; for what is this? Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself.

My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.

Love will conquer at the last.

Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again

So sad, so fresh the days that are no more.