And though hard be the task, keep a stiff upper lip.

One sweetly solemn thought, comes to me o'er and o'er; I am nearer home today, than I ever have been before.

Death comes not to the living soul, nor age to the living heart.

Do we call the star lost that is hidden / In the great light of morn?

Give plenty of what is given to you, And listen to pity's call. Don't think the little you give is great, And the much you get is small.

Books were put out, and 'had a run,' / Like coinage from the mint; / But which could fill the place of one, / That one they wouldn't print?

Only yield when you must, never "give up the ship," but fight on to the last "with a stiff upper lip!