Constancy... that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal.

Of all tales 'tis the saddest--and more sad, Because it makes us smile.

They never fail who die in a great cause.

That music in itself, whose sounds are song, The poetry of speech.

This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.

What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour: For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.