Truths Are First Clouds; Then Rain, Then

The Sun Does Not Shine For A Few Trees, And Flowers, But For The Wide World's Joy. The Lonely Pine On The Mountain-top Waves Its Sombre Boughs And Cries, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Little Meadow Violet Lifts Its Cup Of Blue, And Whispers With Its Perfumed Breath, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Grain In A Thousand Fields Rustles In The Wind, And Makes Answer, 'thou Art My Sun.' So God Sits Effulgent In Heaven, Not For A Favored Few, But For The Universe Of Life; And There Is No Creature So Poor Or So Low That He May Not Look Up With Childish Confidence And Say, 'my Father, Thou Art Mine.

There Is No Liberty To Men Who Know Not How To Govern Themselves.

The Moment An Ill Can Be Patiently Handled, It Is Disarmed Of Its Poison, Though Not Of Its Pain.

Evil Men Of Every Degree Will Use You, Flatter You, Lead You On Until You Are Useless; Then, If The Virtuous Do Not Pity You, Or God Compassionate, You Are Without A Friend In The Universe.

A Man Without Ambition Is Worse Than Dough That Has No Yeast In It To Raise It.