What Else Remains For Me? Youth, Hope

Peace! And No Longer From Its Brazen Portals The Blast Of War's Great Organ Shakes The Skies! But Beautiful As Songs Of The Immortals, The Holy Melodies Of Love Arise.

Welcome, My Old Friend, Welcome To A Foreign Fireside.

In The Long, Sleepless Watches Of The Night, A Gentle Face The Face Of One Long Dead Looks At Me From The Wall, Where Round Its Head The Night-lamp Casts A Halo Of Pale Light.

Wisely Improve The Present. It Is Thine.

All That Is Best In The Great Poets Of All Countries Is Not What Is National In Them, But What Is Universal.