He Who Has Most Of Heart Knows

We Must Not Pluck Death From The Maker's Hand.

Burn To Be Great, Pay Not Thy Praise To Lofty Things Alone. The Plains Are Everlasting As The Hills, The Bard Cannot Have Two Pursuits; Aught Else Comes On The Mind With The Like Shock As Though Two Worlds Had Gone To War, And Met In Air.

Application Is The Price To Be Paid For Mental Acquisition. To Have The Harvest, We Must Sow The Seed.

Blessings Star Forth Forever; But A Curse Is Like A Cloud, It Passes.

The World Is A Great Poem, And The World's The Words It Is Writ In, And We Souls The Thoughts.