In Ourselves Are Triumph And Defeat.

Be Thy Sleep Silent As Night Is, And As Deep.

Only A Look And A Voice; Then Darkness Again And Silence.

The Day Is Done; And Slowly From The Scene The Stooping Sun Upgathers His Spent Shafts, And Puts Them Back Into His Golden Quiver!

No Endeavour Is In Vain; Its Reward Is In The Doing.

I Saw The Long Line Of The Vacant Shore, The Sea-weed And The Shells Upon The Sand, And The Brown Rocks Left Bare On Every Hand, As If The Ebbing Tide Would Flow No More.