It Is A Profitable Thing, If One

For This Our Task Hath Fate Spun Without Fail To Last For Ever Sure, That We On Man Weighed Down With Deeds Of Hate Should Follow Till The Earth His Life Immure. Nor When He Dies Can He Boast Of Being Truly Free.

God Planteth In Mortal Men The Cause Of Sin Whensoever He Wills Utterly To Destroy A House.

Alas, Poor Men, Their Destiny. When All Goes Well A Shadow Will Overthrow It. If It Be Unkind One Stroke Of A Wet Sponge Wipes All The Picture Out.

But When The Dust Has Drunk The Blood Of Men, No Resurrection Comes For One Who's Dead.

Time Waxing Old Can Many A Lesson Teach.