And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.

Books are the best type of the influence of the past.

As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow; Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.

But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.

Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.

The memory of the just survives in Heaven.

Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.