A Drop Of Water, If It Could

Those Who Plant Trees Plant Hope.

I Defied The Machinery To Make Me Its Slave. Its Incessant Discords Could Not Drown The Music Of My Thoughts If I Would Let Them Fly High Enough.

Few Parents Are Aware Of The Difficulties That Beset The Minds Of The Little Philosophers And Theologians Who Sit Upon Their Knees Or Play At Their Feet; And Many A Parent Could Not Comprehend The Disturbance, If He Were Aware Of It.

Some Of Us Must Wait For The Best Human Gifts Until We Come To Heavenly Places. Our Natural Desire For Musical Utterance Is Perhaps A Prophecy That In A Perfect World We Shall All Know How To Sing.

The Soul, Cramped Among The Petty Vexations Of Earth, Needs To Keep Its Windows Constantly Open To The Invigorating Air Of Large And Free Ideas: And What Thought Is So Grand As That Of An Ever-present God, In Whom All That Is Vital In Humanity Breathes And Grows?