He Who Plants A Tree, Plants A

To Her Bier Comes The Year Not With Weeping And Distress, As Mortals Do, But, To Guide Her Way To It, All The Trees Have Torches Lit; Blazing Red The Maples Shine The Woodlands Through.

Many Kinds Of Fruit Grow Upon The Tree Of Life, But None So Sweet As Friendship; As With The Orange Tree Its Blossoms And Fruit Appear At The Same Time, Full Of Refreshment For Sense And For Soul.

If An Apple Blossom Or A Ripe Apple Could Tell Its Own Story, It Would Be, Still More Than Its Own, The Story Of The Sunshine That Smiled Upon It, Of The Winds That Whispered To It, Of The Birds That Sang Around It, Of The Storms That Visited It, And Of The Motherly Tree That Held It And Fed It Until Its Petals Were Unfolded And Its Form Developed.

A Man May Make A Misanthrope Of Himself, But He Is Never One By Nature.

No One Can Feel More Gratefully The Charm Of Noble Scenery, Or The Refreshment Of Escape Into The Unspoiled Solitudes Of Nature, Than The Laborer At Some Close In-door Employment.