My Giant Goes With Me Wherever I

Yet Time And Space Are But Inverse Measures Of The Force Of The Soul. The Spirit Sports With Time.

Nature Is Methodical, And Doeth Her Work Well. Time Is Never To Be Hurried.

Many A Profound Genius, I Suppose, Who Fills The World With Fame Of His Exploding Renowned Errors, Is Yet Everyday Posed And Baffled By Trivial Questions At His Own Supper Table.

We Say The Cows Laid Out Boston. Well, There Are Worse Surveyors.

Not Always Can Flowers, Pearls, Poetry, Protestations, Nor Even Home In Another Heart, Content The Awful Soul That Dwells In Clay.