O, may I join the choir invisible of those immortal dead who live again in minds made better by their presence:
Live in pulses stirred to generosity, in deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn of miserable aims that end with self;
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, and with their mild persistence urge our search to vaster issues.''So to live is heaven, to make undying music in the world, breathing a beauteous order that controls with growing sway the growing life of humanity.
That better self shall live till human time folds its eyelids, and the human sky be gathered like a scroll withing the tomb.
This is life to come, which martyred souls have made more glorious for us, who strive to follow.
May I reach that purest heaven-be to other souls he cup of strength in some great agony;
Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, beget the smiles that have no cruelty;
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, and in diffusion ever more intense.
So shall I join the choir invisible, whoise music is the gladness of the world.
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