I cannot buy you a set of morals; I cannot build you a sense of responsibility; I cannot hand you appreciation of beauty; I cannot manufacture for you concern and compassion; I cannot make yours a compelling, faithful, loyal spirit; I cannot give you the ability to love. 

I have no fortune to will you with which to gain popularity, make you a philanthropist, or help you leave a memorial for charity.

I own no secret formula for success nor any new philosophy. I’ve never written a book on wisdom. I cannot send you away into the world on your own, with beautiful pictures only in your memory, 

for you have seen me cry faithless tears of despair; you have witnessed ugliness in my time of weakness. These things I cannot give you are all yours in Christ Jesus.

As you accept your diploma, severing your relations with school, you step into new relations with parents, friends, and the world. The "apron strings" that have been lengthened as you matured must be cut. 

You have earned more than freedom from school. You have proven yourself trustworthy, dependable, and mature enough to try your own wings, but I will be "on-call" throughout life.