Food over flame burns, food over heat cooks

The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.

For man is man and master of his fate.

Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point.

All things have rest: why should we toil alone, We only toil, who are the first of things.

Time [is] flowing in the middle of the night.

The vow that binds too quickly snaps itself.