Books Are Sepulchres Of Thought.

The Bravest Are The Tenderest.

In Ourselves Are Triumph And Defeat.

Thus Departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha The Beloved, In The Glory Of The Sunset, In The Purple Mists Of Evening, To The Regions Of The Home-wind, Of The Northwest-wind, Keewaydin, To The Islands Of The Blessed, To The Kingdom Of Ponemah, To The Land Of The Hereafter!

Ah, Nothing Is Too Late, Till The Tired Heart Shall Cease To Palpitate.

Let Us Then, Be Up And Doing.