Ambition's Cradle Oftenest Is Its Grave

Gone Are The Living, But The Dead Remain, And Not Neglected; For A Hand Unseen, Scattering Its Bounty Like A Summer Rain, Still Keeps Their Graves And Their Remembrance Green.

Look, Then, Into Thine Heart, And Write!

The Air Is Full Of Farewells To The Dying. And Mournings For The Dead.

God Sifted A Whole Nation That He Might Send Choice Grain Over Into This Wilderness.

Oh, What A Glory Doth This World Put On, For Him Who With A Fervent Heart Goes Forth Under The Bright And Glorious Sky, And Looks On Duties Well Performed, And Days Well Spent.