Daniel Webster (1782–1852)

IF stores of dry and learned lore we gain,

We keep them in the memory of the brain;

Names, things, and facts—whate’er we knowledge call,

There is the common ledger for them all;

And images on this cold surface traced

Make slight impressions, and are soon effaced.

But we ’ve a page more glowing and more bright,

On which our friendship and our love to write;

That these may never from the soul depart,

We trust them to the memory of the heart.

There is no dimming—no effacement here;

Each new pulsation keeps the record clear;

Warm, golden letters, all the tablet fill,

Nor lose their lustre till the heart stands still.