Rest, brother, rest. Have you done ill or well Rest, rest, There is no God, no gods who dwell Crowned with avenging righteousness on high Nor frowning ministers of their hate in hell.

The highest summits and those elevated above the level of other things are mostly blasted by envy as by a thunderbolt.

Violence and wrong enclose all who commit them in their meshes and do mostly recoil on him from whom they begin.

Falling drops will at last wear away stone.

And life is given to none freehold, but it is leasehold for all.

Though the dungeon, the scourge, and the executioner be absent, the guilty mind can apply the goad and scorch with blows.

It is pleasant, when the sea is high and the winds are dashing the waves about, to watch from the shores the struggles of another.