It Is Only Rogues Who Feel The

Work Was Made For Man, And Not Man For Work. Work Is Man's Servant, Both In Its Results To The Worker And The World. Man Is Not Work's Servant, Save As An Almost Universal Perversion Has Made Him Such.

There Are Crowds Who Trample A Flower Into The Dust Without Thinking Once That They Have One Of The Sweetest Thoughts Of God Under Their Heel.

There Is No Well-doing, No Godlike Doing, That Is Not Patient Doing.

The Cry Of The Soul Is For Freedom. It Longs For Liberty, From The Date Of Its First Conscious Moments.

God Give Us Men! A Time Like This Demands. Strong Minds, Great Hearts, True Faith, And Ready Hands; Men Whom The Lust Of Office Does Not Kill; Men Whom The Spoils Of Office Cannot Buy; Men Who Possess Opinions And A Will; Men Who Have Honor; Men Who Will Not Die.