Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.
Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.
The greater person is one of courtesy.
And out of darkness came the hands that reach through nature, moulding men.
Love will conquer at the last.