The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory.
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
The year is dying in the night.
Things seen are mightier than things heard.
Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control; these three alone lead one to sovereign power.