And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today.

The heart, like the mind, has a memory. And in it are kept the most precious keepsakes.

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.

Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate, Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.