Let Us Then Be Up And Doing,

We Have Not Wings We Cannot Soar; But, We Have Feet To Scale And Climb, By Slow Degrees, By More And More, The Cloudy Summits Of Our Time.

Some Must Follow And Some Command, Through All Are Made Oclay.

When We Walk Towards The Sun Of Truth, All Shadows Are Cast Behind Us.

Wisely Improve The Present. It Is Thine.

The Motives And Purposes Of Authors Are Not Always So Pure And High, As, In The Enthusiasm Of Youth, We Sometimes Imagine. To Many The Trumpet Of Fame Is Nothing But A Tin Horn To Call Them Home, Like Laborers From, The Field, At Dinner-time, And They Think Themselves Lucky To Get The Dinner.