Sculpture Is More Than Painting. It Is

O Holy Trust! O Endless Sense Of Rest! Like The Beloved John To Lay His Head Upon The Saviour's Breast, And Thus To Journey On!

Let Him Not Boast Who Puts His Armor On As He Who Puts It Off, The Battle Done.

In The Life Of Every Man There Are Sudden Transitions Of Feeling, Which Seem Almost Miraculous. At Once, As If Some Magician Had Touched The Heavens And The Earth, The Dark Clouds Melt Into The Air, The Wind Falls, And Serenity Succeeds The Storm. The Causes Which Produce These Changes May Have Been Long At Work Within Us, But The Changes Themselves Are Instantaneous, And Apparently Without Sufficient Cause.

I Hear The Wind Among The Trees Playing The Celestial Symphonies; I See The Branches Downward Bent, Like Keys Of Some Great Instrument.

This Song Of Mine Is A Song Of The Vine To Be Sung By The Glowing Embers Of Wayside Inns, When The Rain Begins To Darken The Drear Novembers. And For The Richest And Best Is The Wind Of The West That Grows By The Beautiful River; Whose Sweet Perfume Fills All The Room With A Bension On The Giver. And When You Ask One Friend To Dine, Give Hime Your Best Wine! When You Ask Two, The Second Best Will Do.