These Stars Of Earth, These Golden Flowers.

All The Means Of Action -- The Shapeless Masses -- The Materials -- Lie Everywhere About Us. What We Need Is The Celestial Fire To Change The Flint Into The Transparent Crystal, Bright And Clear. That Fire Is Genius.

Time Is The Life Of The Soul.

We Often Excuse Our Own Want Of Philanthropy By Giving The Name Of Fanaticism To The More Ardent Zeal Of Others.

Oh, What A Glory Doth This World Put On, For Him Who With A Fervent Heart Goes Forth Under The Bright And Glorious Sky, And Looks On Duties Well Performed, And Days Well Spent.

Intelligence And Courtesy Not Always Are Combined; Often In A Wooden House A Golden Room We Find.