And The Bright Faces Of My Young

The Grave Itself Is But A Covered Bridge, Leading From Light To Light, Through A Brief Darkness!

Where'er A Noble Deed Is Wrought, Where'er Is Spoken A Noble Thought, Our Hearts In Glad Surprise To Higher Levels Rise.

To Be Seventy Years Old Is Like Climbing The Alps. You Reach A Snow-crowned Summit, And See Behind You The Deep Valley Stretching Miles And Miles Away, And Before You Other Summits Higher And Whiter, Which You May Have Strength To Climb, Or May Not. Then You Sit Down And Meditate And Wonder Which It Will Be.

They Who Go Feel Not The Pain Of Parting; It Is They Who Stay Behind That Suffer.

The Picture That Approaches Sculpture Nearest Is The Best Picture.