I Pray On The Principle That Wine

Your Honors Here May Serve You For A Time, As It Were For An Hour, But They Will Be Of No Use To You Beyond This World. Nobody Will Have Heard A Word Of Your Honors In The Other Life. Your Glory, Your Shame, Your Ambitions, And All The Treasures For Which You Push Hard And Sacrifice Much Will Be Like Wreaths Of Smoke. For These Things, Which You Mostly Seek, And For Which You Spend Your Life Only Tarry With You While You Are On This Side Of The Flood.

If God But Cares For Our Inward And Eternal Life, If By All The Experiences Of This Life He Is Reducing It And Preparing For Its Disclosure, Nothing Can Befall Us But Prosperity. Every Sorrow Shall Be But The Setting Of Some Luminous Jewel Of Joy. Our Very Morning Shall Be But The Enamel Around The Diamond; Our Very Hardships But The Metallic Rim That Holds The Opal, Glancing With Strange Interior Fires.

He Is Rich Or Poor According To What He Is, Not According To What He Has.

What Profusion Is There In His Work! When Trees Blossom There Is Not A Single Breastpin, But A Whole Bosom Full Of Gems; And Of Leaves They Have So Many Suits That They Can Throw Them Away To The Winds All Summer Long. What Unnumbered Cathedrals Has He Reared In The Forest Shades, Vast And Grand, Full Of Curious Carvings, And Haunted Evermore By Tremulous Music; And In The Heavens Above, How Do Stars Seem To Have Flown Out Of His Hand Faster Than Sparks Out Of A Mighty Forge!

Genius Is A Steed Too Fiery For The Plow Or The Cart.