O Death the Healer, scorn thou not, I pray, To come to me of cureless ills thou art The one physician. Pain lays not its touch Upon a corpse.
O Death the Healer, scorn thou not, I pray, To come to me of cureless ills thou art The one physician. Pain lays not its touch Upon a corpse.
For somehow this is tyranny's disease, to trust no friends.
For the poison of hatred seated near the heart doubles the burden for the one who suffers the disease; he is burdened with his own sorrow, and groans on seeing another's happiness.
Words are the physicians of a mind diseased.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories