Every Man Stamps His Value

Folly, Thou Conquerest, And I Must Yield! Against Stupidity The Very Gods Themselves Contend In Vain. Exalted Reason, Resplendent Daughter Of The Head Divine, Wise Foundress Of The System Of The World, Guide Of The Stars, Who Are Thou Then, If Thou, Bound To The Tail Of Folly's Uncurb'd Steed, Must, Vainly Shrieking, With The Drunken Crowd, Eyes Open, Plunge Down Headlong In The Abyss.

The Mountain Cannot Frighten One Who Was Born On It.

I Have Enjoyed The Happiness Of The World; I Have Loved.

As Noble Art Has Survived Noble Nature, So Too She Marches Ahead Of It, Fashioning And Awakening By Her Inspiration. Before Truth Sends Her Triumphant Light Into The Depths Of The Heart, Imagination Catches Its Rays, And The Peaks Of Humanity Will Be Glowing When Humid Night Still Lingers In The Valleys.

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.