As For Environments, The Kingliest Being Ever

No Language Can Express The Power, And Beauty, And Heroism, And Majesty Of A Mother's Love. It Shrinks Not Where Man Cowers, And Grows Stronger Where Man Faints, And Over Wastes Of Worldly Fortunes Sends The Radiance Of Its Quenchless Fidelity Like A Star.

The Brightest Crowns That Are Worn In Heaven Have Been Tried, And Smelted, And Polished And Glorified Through The Furnaces Of Tribulation.

The Productions Of The Press, Fast As Steam Can Make And Carry Them, Go Abroad Through All The Land, Silent As Snowflakes, But Potent As Thunder. It Is An Additional Tongue Of Steam And Lightning, By Which A Man Speaks His First Thought, His Instant Argument Or Grievance, To Millions In A Day.

Down Below All The Crust Of Human Conceptions, Of Human Ideas, Christ Sank An Artesian Well Into A Source Of Happiness So Pure And Blessed That Even Yet The World Does Not Believe In It.

An Aged Christian, With The Snow Of Time Upon His Head, May Remind Us That Those Points Of Earth Are Whitest Which Are Nearest To Heaven.