On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.

And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.

There's no glory like those who save their country.

Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was love.

Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him; and tho' he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.