So I Be Written In The Book

The Revelations Of Devout And Learn'd Who Rose Before Us, And As Prophets Burn'd, Are All But Stories, Which, Awoke From Sleep They Told Their Comrades, And To Sleep Return'd.

For In And Out, Above, About, Below, 'tis Nothing But A Magic Shadow-show, Played In A Box Whose Candle Is The Sun, Round Which We Phantom Figures Come And Go.

Men Talk Of Heaven, - There Is No Heaven But Here; Men Talk Of Hell, - There Is No Hell But Here; Men Of Hereafters Talk And Future Lives, - O Love, There Is No Other Life - But Here.

The Entire World Shall Be Populous With That Action Which Saves One Soul From Despair.

Here's To The Man Who Owns The Land That Bears The Grapes That Makes The Wine That Tastes As Good As This Does.