The Best Thing One Can Do When

God Sifted A Whole Nation That He Might Send Choice Grain Over Into This Wilderness.

They, The Holy Ones And Weakly, Who The Cross Of Suffering Bore, Folded Their Pale Hands So Meekly, Spake With Us On Earth No More!

I Am More Afraid Of Deserving Criticism Than Of Receiving It.

I Will Be A Man Among Men; And No Longer A Dreamer Among Shadows.

Sweet Is The Air With The Budding Haws, And The Valley Stretching For Miles Below Is White With Blossoming Cherry-trees, As If Just Covered With Lighted Snow.