Whatever is beautiful is beautiful by necessity
To our own sorrows serious heed we give, But for another?s we soon cease to grieve.
One race there is of men, one of gods, but from one mother we both draw our breath.
Unsung, the noblest deed will die.
Point thy tongue on the anvil of truth.
Wrapt up in error is the human mind, And human bliss is ever insecure; Know we what fortune yet remains behind? Know we how long the present shall endure?