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

Laugh out, O stream, from your bed of green, / Where you lie in the sun's embrace; / And talk to the reeds that o'er you lean / To touch your dimpled face.

Come up, April, though the valley, / In your robes of beauty drest, / Come and wake your flowery children / From their wintry beds of rest.

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

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

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?

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