Heaven To Me's A Fair Blue Stretch

When The Last Sea Is Sailed And Last Shallow Charted, When The Last Field Is Reaped And The Last Harvest Stored, When The Last Fire Is Out And The Last Guest Departed Grant The Last Prayer That I Pray, Be Good To Me, O Lord.

Once In A Century A Man May Be Ruined Or Made Insufferable By Praise. But Surely Once In A Minute Something Generous Dies For Want Of It.

In The Power And Splendor Of The Universe, Inspiration Waits For The Millions To Come. Man Has Only To Strive For It. Poems Greater Than The Iliad, Plays Greater Than Macbeth, Stories More Engaging Than Don Quixote Await Their Seeker And Finder.

Commonplace People Dislike Tragedy Because They Dare Not Suffer And Cannot Exult.

But He Has Gone, A Nation's Memory And Veneration, Among The Radiant, Ever Venturing On, Somewhere, With Morning, As Such Spirits Will.