You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us All earth forgot, and all heaven around us.

The Minstrel-Boy to the war is gone In the ranks of death you will find him His father's sword he hath girded on And his wild harp slung behind him.

No matter how long we exist, we have our memories. Points in time which time itself cannot erase. Suffering may distort my backward glances, but even to suffer…

God has given us memories that we may have roses in December.

Oh, the moon is fair tonight along the Wabash, From the fields there comes the breath of new-mown hay; Through the sycamores the candle lights are gleaming On …