No institution which does not continually test its ideals, techniques and measure of accomplishment can claim real vitality.

How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.

Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.

He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?

They also serve who only stand and wait.