In Ourselves Are Triumph And Defeat.

The Morning Breaks; The Steeds In Their Stalls Stamp And Neigh, As The Hostler Calls; The Day Returns, But Nevermore Returns The Traveler To The Shore, And The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls.

Oh, How Short Are The Days! How Soon The Night Overtakes Us!

Go Forth To Meet The Shadowy Future Without Fear And With A Manly Heart.

Races, Better Than We, Have Leaned On Her Wavering Promise, Having Naught Else But Hope.

Life Like An Empty Dream Flits By.