The Choicest Thing This World Has For

Heaven Is Not Reached At A Single Bound. But We Build The Ladder By Which We Rise. From The Lowly Earth To The Vaulted Skies, And We Mount To Its Summit Round By Round.

I Softly Sink Into The Bath Of Sleep: With Eyelids Shut, I See Around Me Close The Mottled, Violet Vapors Of The Deep, That Wraps Me In Repose.

There Is A Contemptibly Quiet Path For All Those Who Are Afraid Of The Blows And Clamor Of Opposing Forces. There Is No Honorable Fighting For A Man Who Is Not Ready To Forget That He Has A Head To Be Battered And A Name To Be Bespattered. Truth Wants No Champion Who Is Not As Ready To Be Struck As To Strike For Her.

That Which Grows Fast, Withers As Rapidly. That Which Grows Slow, Endures.

Geology Gives Us A Key To The Patience Of God.