The Rich Have No More

I Sing The Progress Of A Deathless Soul.

Sleep Is Pain's Easiest Salve

Old Grandsires Talk Of Yesterday With Sorrow, And For Our Children We Reserve Tomorrow.

The World Is A Great Volume, And Man The Index Of That Book; Even In The Body Of Man, You May Turn To The Whole World.

When My Mouth Shall Be Filled With Dust, And The Worm Shall Feed, And Feed Sweetly Upon Me, When The Ambitious Man Shall Have No Satisfaction If The Poorest Alive Tread Upon Him, Nor The Poorest Receive Any Contentment In Being Made Equal To Princes, For They Shall Be Equal But In Dust.