For life is but a dream whose shapes return, some frequently, some seldom, some by night and some by day.
The world rolls round forever like a mill; it grinds out death and life and good and ill; it has no purpose, heart or mind or will.
Statues and pictures and verse may be grand, But they are not the Life for which they stand.
Hail! Independence, hail! Heaven's next best gift, To that of life and an immortal soul!