If You Think You Can Do It,

The Fisherman Has A Harmless, Preoccupied Look; He Is A Kind Of Vagrant, That Nothing Fears. He Blends Himself With The Trees And The Shadows. All His Approaches Are Gentle And Indirect. He Times Himself To The Meandering, Soliloquizing Stream; He Addresses Himself To It As A Lover To His Mistress; He Woos It And Stays With It Till He Knows Its Hidden Secrets. Where It Deepens His Purpose Deepens; Where It Is Shallow He Is Indifferent. He Knows How To Interpret Its Every Glance And Dimple; Its Beauty Haunts Him For Days.

Oh, Spring Is Surely Coming, Her Couriers Fill The Air; Each Morn Are New Arrivals, Each Night Her Ways Prepare; I Scent Her Fragrant Garments, Her Foot Is On The Stair.

The Fuel In The Earth Will Be Exhausted In A Thousand Or More Years, And Its Mineral Wealth, But Man Will Find Substitutes For These In The Winds, The Waves, The Sun's Heat, And So Forth.

In The Order Of Nature We May Behold The Ways Of The Eternal.

Happiness Comes Most To Persons Who Seek It Least And Think Least About It. It Is Not An Object To Be Sought, It Is A State To Be Induced. It Must Follow And Not Lead. It Must Overtake You, And Not You Overtake It.