When Workmen Strive To Do Better Than

Tomorrow, And Tomorrow, And Tomorrow,creeps In This Petty Pace From Day To Day

No Matter Where; Of Comfort No Man Speak: Let's Talk Of Graves, Of Worms, And Epitaphs; Make Dust Our Paper And With Rainy Eyes Write Sorrow On The Bosom Of The Earth

For Many Men That Stumble At The Threshold Are Well Foretold That Danger Lurks Within.

Oppose Not Rage While Rage Is In Its Force, But Give It Way A While And Let It Waste.

To You Your Father Should Be As A God; One That Composed Your Beauties, Yea, And One To Whom You Are But As A Form In Wax, By Him Imprinted, And Within His Power To Leave The Figure Or Disfigure It.