Hope Lies To Mortals And Most Believe

Shoulder The Sky, My Lad, And Drink Your Ale.

I Sought Them Far And Found Them, The Sure, The Straight, The Brave, The Hearts I Lost My Own To, The Souls I Could Not Save They Braced Their Belts About Them, They Crossed In Ships The Sea, They Sought And Found Six Feet Of Ground, And There They Died For Me.

Here Dead Lie We Because We Did Not Choose To Live And Shame The Land From Which We Sprung. Life, To Be Sure, Is Nothing Much To Lose; But Young Men Think It Is, And We Were Young.

Look Not In My Eyes, For Fear They Mirror True The Sight I See, And There You Find Your Face Too Clear And Love It And Be Lost Like Me.

Great Literature Should Do Some Good To The Reader: Must Quicken His Perception Though Dull, And Sharpen His Discrimination Though Blunt, And Mellow The Rawness Of His Personal Opinions.