Death Only This Mysterious Truth Unfolds, The

Death Only This Mysterious Truth Unfolds, The Mighty Soul How Small A Body Holds.

The Secret Pleasure Of A Generous Act Is The Great Mind's Great Bribe.

For Thee, Sweet Month; The Groves Green Liveries Wear. If Not The First, The Fairest Of The Year; For Thee The Graces Lead The Dancing Hours, And Nature's Ready Pencil Paints The Flowers. When Thy Short Reign Is Past, The Feverish Sun The Sultry Tropic Fears, And Moves More Slowly On.

Ever A Glutton, At Another's Cost, But In Whose Kitchen Dwells Perpetual Frost.

For Granting We Have Sinned, And That The Offence Of Man Is Made Against Omnipotence, Some Price That Bears Proportion Must Be Paid, And Infinite With Infinite Be Weighed.