Death Hath So Many Doors

Care-charming Sleep, Thou Easer Of All Woes, Brother To Death, Sweetly Thyself Dispose.

Then, Everlasting Love , Restrain Thy Will; 'tis God -like To Have Power, But Not To Kill.

Man Is His Own Star, And The Soul That Can, Render An Honest And A Perfect Man, Commands All Light, All Influence, All Fate: Nothing To Him Falls Early Or Too Late. Our Acts Are Angels Are, For Good Or Ill: Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.

Man Is His Own Star, And The Soul That Can Render An Honest And A Perfect Man, Commands All Light.

Corruption Is A Tree, Whose Branches Are Of An Immeasurable Length: They Spread Ev'rywhere; And The Dew That Drops From Thence Hath Infected Some Chairs And Stools Of Authority.