As men are killed by fighting, the truth is lost in disputing.

To God, thy country, and thy friend be true.

Some syllables are swords.

Dear Night! this world's defeat; The stop to busy fools; care's check and curb; The day of spirits; my soul's calm retreat Which none disturb! Christ's progress, and His prayer-time; The hours to which high Heaven cloth chime.

If thou canst but thither, There grows the flower of Peace, The Rose that cannot wither, Thy fortress and thy ease.

As men are killed by fighting, the truth is lost in disputing.

Dear beauteous death, the jewel of the just.