There swift return Diurnal, merely to officiate light Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.

Now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.

Have hung My dank and dropping weeds To the stern god of sea.

There are no songs comparable to the songs of Zion, no orations equal to those of the prophets, and no politics like those which the Scriptures teach.

Let us no more contend, nor blame each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive, In offices of love, how we may lighten each other's burden.

God sure esteems the growth and completing of one virtuous person, more that the restraint of ten vicious.

Our cure, to be no more; sad cure!