Grief Is Itself A Medicine.

Pernicious Weed! Whose Scent The Fair Annoys, Unfriendly To Society's Chief Joys: Thy Worst Effect Is Banishing For Hours The Sex Whose Presence Civilizes Ours.

But What Is Truth? 'twas Pilate's Question Put To Truth Itself, That Deign'd Him No Reply.

Give What Thou Canst, Without Thee We Are Poor; And With Thee Rich, Take What Thou Wilt Away.

To See The Law By Christ Fulfilled, And Hear His Pardoning Voice Changes A Slave Into A Child, And Duty Into Choice.

The Beggarly Last Doit.