Only Those Who Have The Patience To

Against Stupidity The Very Gods Themselves Contend In Vain.

Whatever Lives, Lives To Die In Sorrow. We Engage Our Hearts, And Grasp After The Things Of This World, Only To Undergo The Pang Of Losing Them.

The Very Plants Turn With A Joyful Transport To The Light.

Man Ever Talks, And Man Ever Dreams Of Better Days That Are Yet To Be, After Glittering Goal, That Distant Gleams, Running And Racing Untiringly. The Worldly May Grow Old And Young As It Will, But The Hope Of Man Is Improvement Still. Hope Bears Him Into Life In Her Arms, She Flutters Around The Boy's Young Bloom, The Soul Of Youth With Her Magic Warms, Nor Rests With Age In The Silent Tomb; For Ends Man His Weary Course At The Grave, There Plants He Hope O'er His Ashes To Wave.

Foster The Beautiful, And Every Hour Thou Tallest New Flowers To Birth.