The Emigrant's Way O'er The Western Desert

It Has Done Me Good To Be Somewhat Parched By The Heat And Drenched By The Rain Of Life.

Were A Star Quenched On High,for Ages Would Its Light,still Travelling Downward From The Sky,shine On Our Mortal Sight. So When A Great Man Dies,for Years Beyond Our Ken,the Light He Leaves Behind Him Liesupon The Paths Of Men.

In The World's Broad Field Of Battle, In The Bivouac Of Life, Be Not Like Dumb, Driven Cattle! Be A Hero In The Strife!

My Designs And Labors And Aspirations Are My Only Friends.

No Literature Is Complete Until The Language It Was Written In Is Dead.