E'en From The Tomb The Voice Of

Sorrow's Faded Form, And Solitude Behind.

And Weep The More, Because I Weep In Vain.

Any Fool May Write A Most Valuable Book By Chance, If He Will Only Tell Us What He Heard And Saw With Veracity.

Far From The Madding Crowd's Ignoble Strife Their Sober Wishes Never Learn'd To Stray; Along The Cool Sequester'd Vale Of Life They Kept The Noiseless Tenor Of Their Way.

The Still Small Voice Of Gratitude.