All Thoughts That Mold The

Time Is, After All, The Greatest Of Poets; And The Sons Of Memory Stand A Better Chance Of Being The Heirs Of Fame.

It Is Not Without Reason That Fame Is Awarded Only After Death. The Cloud-dust Of Notoriety Which Follows And Envelops The Men Who Drive With The Wind Bewilders Contemporary Judgment.

Ye Come And Go Incessant; We Remain Safe In The Hallowed Quiets Of The Past; Be Reverent, Ye Who Flit And Are Forgot, Of Faith So Nobly Realized As This.

That Best Academy, A Mother's Knee.

It Is By Presence Of Mind In Untried Emergencies That The Native Metal Of Man Is Tested.