No Man Is So Poor

What Shall I Say To You? What Can I Say Better Than Silence Is?

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.

The Bravest Are The Tenderest.

One Half The World Must Sweat And Groan That The Other Half May Dream.

Gone Are The Living, But The Dead Remain, And Not Neglected; For A Hand Unseen, Scattering Its Bounty Like A Summer Rain, Still Keeps Their Graves And Their Remembrance Green.