Virtue Treads Paths That End Not In

Once To Every Man And Nation Comes The Moment To Decide.

The Soil Out Of Which Such Men As He Are Made Is Good To Be Born On, Good To Live On, Good To Die For And To Be Buried In.

A Man Is Old When He Can Pass An Apple Orchard And Not Remember The Stomachache.

With Every Anguish Of Our Earthly Part The Spirit's Sight Grows Clearer.

New Occasions Teach New Duties, Time Makes Ancient Good Uncouth; They Must Upward Still And Onward, Who Would Keep Abreast Of Truth.