A thousand forms and passions glow Upon the world-wide canvas. So With larger scope our art we ply; And if the crown be harder won, Diviner rays around it run, With strains of fuller harmony.

Shakespeare's stage must hold the glass to every age.

Our hope is less to last through Art than deeper searching of the heart, than broader range of uttered truth.

The monument outlasting bronze was promised well by bards of old.