It is not strength, but art, obtains the prize,

And to be swift is less than to be wise.

'T is more by art than force of num'rous strokes.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Iliad of Homer. Book xxiii. Line 383.

Hail, Columbia! happy land!

Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band!

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,

And when the storm of war was gone,

Enjoyed the peace your valor won.

Let independence be our boast,

Ever mindful what it cost;

Ever grateful for the prize,

Let its altar reach the skies!

Joseph Hopkinson (1770-1842): Hail, Columbia!

For it so falls out

That what we have we prize not to the worth

Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost,

Why, then we rack the value; then we find

The virtue that possession would not show us

Whiles it was ours.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Wut's words to them whose faith an' truth

On war's red techstone rang true metal;

Who ventered life an' love an' youth

For the gret prize o' death in battle?

James Russell Lowell (1819-1891): The Biglow Papers. Second Series. No. x.

For life, with all it yields of joy and woe,

And hope and fear (believe the aged friend),

Is just our chance o' the prize of learning love,—

How love might be, hath been indeed, and is.

Robert Browning (1812-1890): A Death in the Desert.