The way for a young man to rise is to improve every way he can, never suspecting that anybody wishes to hinder him.
To add brightness to the sun or glory to the name of Washington is alike impossible. Let none attempt it. In solemn awe pronounce the name and in its naked deathless splendor leave it shining on.
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring.
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning.
Here, Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer; his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm; he has no pulse nor will.
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won.
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Walt Whitman
THE UNFINISHED WORK
The crowd was gone, and to the side
Of Borglum's Lincoln, deep in awe,
I crept. It seemed a mighty tide
Within those aching eyes I saw.
"Great heart," I said, "why grieve alway?
The battle's ended, and the shout
Shall ring forever and a day—
Why sorrow yet, or darkly doubt?"