And every grief that mortals share Found pity in his tenderness. |
Life is arched with changing skies: Rarely are they what they seem: Children we of smiles and sighs -- Much we know, but more we dream. |
Manners, -- The final and perfect flower of noble character. |
No life can be barren which hears the whisper of the wind in the branches, or the voice of the sea as it breaks upon the shore; and no soul can lack happiness looking up to the midnight stars. |
The fault line of race is a paramount factor in keeping us from realizing our potential as a state and as a nation. The elimination of this line is what I think this institute is about. . . . Our task in the final analysis is to cause more of us to look in the mirror. |
The golden time of Long Ago. |
Though all the bards of earth were dead, And all their music passed away, What Nature wishes should be said She'll find the rightful voice to say. |
When will the dead world cease to dream, When will the morning break? |