Old gold has a civilizing virtue which new gold must grow old to be capable of secreting.

Endurance is the crowning quality, And patience all the passion of great hearts.

Over our manhood bend the skies; Against our fallen and traitor lives The great winds utter prophecies; With our faint hearts the mountain strives, Its arms outstretched, the druid wood Waits with its benedicite And to our age’s drowsy blood Still shouts the inspiring sea.

Old events have modern meanings; only that survives of past history which finds kindred in all hearts and lives.

Each day the world is born anew for him who takes it rightly.

Who knows whither the clouds have fled? In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake; And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, The heart forgets its sorrow and ache.

Taste is the next gift to genius.