Heap high the board with plenteous cheer, and gather to the feast, And toast the sturdy Pilgrim band whose courage never ceased. Give praise to that All-Gracious One by whom their steps were led, And thanks unto the harvest's Lord who sends our "daily bread."
After sixty years the stern sentence of the burial service seems to have a meaning that one did not notice in former years. There begins to be something personal about it.
One hour of life, crowded to the full with glorious action, and filled with noble risks, is worth whole years of those mean observances of paltry decorum.