I Think We Must Get Rid Of

Whatever Limits Us We Call Fate.

For Flowers That Bloom About Our Feet; For Tender Grass, So Fresh, So Sweet; For Song Of Bird, And Hum Of Bee; For All Things Fair We Hear Or See, Father In Heaven, We Thank Thee!

Harmony Of Aim, Not Identity Of Conclusion, Is The Secret Of Sympathetic Life.

None Believeth In The Soul Of Man, But Only In Some Man Or Person Old And Departed.

Whatever We Think And Say Is Wonderfully Better For Our Spirits And Trust In Another Mouth.