Art is long, and Time is fleeting

Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still like muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

The counterfeit and counterpart of nature are reproduced in art.

Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

For his heart was in his work, and the heart Giveth grace unto every Art.

Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.