To extend our memories by monuments, whose death we daily pray
for, and whose duration we cannot hope, without read more

To extend our memories by monuments, whose death we daily pray
for, and whose duration we cannot hope, without injury to our
expectations in the advent of the last day, were a contradiction
to our belief.

If we work upon marble it will perish. If we work upon brass
time will efface it. If we read more

If we work upon marble it will perish. If we work upon brass
time will efface it. If we rear temples they will crumble to
dust. But if we work upon men's immortal minds, if we imbue them
with high principles, with the just fear of God and love of their
fellow men, we engrave on those tablets something which no time
can efface, and which will brighten and brighten to all eternity.

Gold once out of the earth is no more due unto it; what was
unreasonably committed to the ground, read more

Gold once out of the earth is no more due unto it; what was
unreasonably committed to the ground, is reasonably resumed from
it; let monuments and rich fabricks, not riches, adorn men's
ashes.

Where London's column, pointing at the skies,
Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies.

Where London's column, pointing at the skies,
Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies.

Thou, in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a life-long monument.

Thou, in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a life-long monument.

The tap'ring pyramid, the Egyptian's pride,
And wonder of the world, whose spiky top
Has wounded the read more

The tap'ring pyramid, the Egyptian's pride,
And wonder of the world, whose spiky top
Has wounded the thick cloud.

Their monument sticks like a fishbone
in the city's throat.

Their monument sticks like a fishbone
in the city's throat.

Tombs are the clothes of the dead. A grave is but a plain suit,
and a rich monument is read more

Tombs are the clothes of the dead. A grave is but a plain suit,
and a rich monument is one embroidered.

You shall not pile, with servile toil,
Your monuments upon my breast,
Nor yet within the common read more

You shall not pile, with servile toil,
Your monuments upon my breast,
Nor yet within the common soil
Lay down the wreck of power to rest,
Where man can boast that he has trod
On him that was "the scourge of God."