Low stir of leaves and dip of oars And lapsing waves on quiet shores. - John Greenleaf Whittier

Sweeter than any sung
My songs that found no tongue;
Nobler than any fact
My wish that failed of act. Others shall sing the song,
Others shall right the wrong,—
Finish what I begin,
And all I fail of win.

God's ways seem dark, but, soon or late,
They touch the shining hills of day;
The evil cannot brook delay,
The good can well afford to wait.

Press bravely onward! — not in vain Your generous trust in human kind; The good which bloodshed could not gain Your peaceful zeal shall find.