Prayer Is Innocence's Friend; And Willingly Flieth

Who Ne'er His Bread In Sorrow Ate, Who Ne'er The Mournful Midnight Hours Weeping Upon His Bed Has Sate, He Knows You Not, Ye Heavenly Powers.

The Twilight Is Sad And Cloudy, The Wind Blows Wild And Free, And Like The Wings Of Sea-birds Flash The White Caps Of The Sea.

The Great Tragedy Of The Average Man Is That He Goes To His Grave With His Music Still In Him.

Death Is The Chillness That Precedes The Dawn; We Shudder For A Moment, Then Awake In The Broad Sunshine Of The Other Life.

Into A World Unknown,-the Corner-stone Of A Nation!