How In The Turmoil Of Life Can

If You Would Hit The Mark, You Must Aim A Little Above It.

Labor With What Zeal We Will, Something Still Remains Undone, Something Uncompleted Still Waits The Rising Of The Sun.

The Morning Breaks; The Steeds In Their Stalls Stamp And Neigh, As The Hostler Calls; The Day Returns, But Nevermore Returns The Traveler To The Shore, And The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls.

Mercy More Becomes A Magistrate Than The Vindictive Wrath Which Men Call Justice.

It Is Curious To Note The Old Sea-margins Of Human Thought! Each Subsiding Century Reveals Some New Mystery; We Build Where Monsters Used To Hide Themselves.