Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.

The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.

Build today, then strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure. Shall tomorrow find its place.

Into a world unknown,-the corner-stone of a nation!

Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.

No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

The men that women marry, And why they marry them, will always be A marvel and a mystery to the world.