Words Are The Motes Of Thought, And

See The Gold Sunshine Patching, And Streaming And Streaking Across The Gray-green Oaks; And Catching, By Its Soft Brown Beard, The Moss.

Look On The Bee Upon The Wing 'mong Flowers; How Brave, How Bright His Life! Then Mark, Him Hiv'd, Cramp'd, Cringing In His Self-built, Social Cell, Thus It Is In The World-hive; Most Where Men Lie Deep In Cities As In Drifts.

We Live In Deeds, Not Years; In Thoughts, Not Figures On A Dial. We Should Count Time By Heart Throbs. He Most Lives Who Thinks Most, Feels The Noblest, Acts The Best.

Lowliness Is The Base Of Every Virtue, And He Who Goes The Lowest Builds The Safest.

It Is No Great Misfortune To Oblige Ungrateful People, But An Unsupportable One To Be Forced To Be Under An Obligation To A Scoundrel.