Oh, family bred for torments,
for the bloody strokes
of harsh discordant ruin,
for pains beyond enduring,
grief that can't be staunched.
For all this evil there's a remedy,
not from some stranger,
someone outside the house,
but from within, the cure
that blood strife brings,
their savage bloody fight.
To gods beneath the ground
we sing this hymn.
Hear us, you blessed gods of earth,
hear this supplication, and assist
with your good will these children.
Give them the victory!
--Aeschylus, The Libation Bearers
Death is but Crossing the World, as Friends do the Seas; They live in one another still. For they must needs be present, that love and live in that which is Omnipresent. In this Divine Glass, they see Face to Face; and their Converse is Free, as well as Pure. This is the Comfort of Friends, that though they may be said to Die, yet their Friendship and Society are, in the best Sense, ever present, because Immortal.
--William Penn, More Fruits of Solitude
