The harvest of the years awaits you here,
Culled with slow toil, and heaped with bloody sweat,
The truths that men have died to bring to light
Are laid before you in these quiet halls.
Upon these shelves your eager hands shall find
The keys to open doors not yet unlocked,
The torch to kindle new and brighter lamps,
The chart to plot your course beyond the stars,
The clues to all the labyrinths of thought.
Here you shall meet the men whose names are carved
Deep-hewn forever on the rocks of time...
You shall be guests of all the greatest minds.
