I hold that when a person dies / His soul returns again to earth; / Arrayed in some new flesh disguise / Another mother gives him birth / With sturdier limbs and brighter brain.

Success is the brand on the brow of the man who aimed too low.

God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.

To most of us the future seems unsure. But then it always has been; and we who have seen great changes must have great hopes.

The distant soul can shake the distant friend's soul and make the longing felt, over untold miles.

And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.

But he has gone, A nation's memory and veneration, Among the radiant, ever venturing on, Somewhere, with morning, as such spirits will.