Think With Awe On The Slow And

What Reason, Like The Careful Ant, Draws Laboriously Together, The Wind Of Accident Sometimes Collects In A Moment.

On The Mountains There Is Freedom! The World Is Perfect Everywhere, Save Where Man Comes With His Torment.

Many A Crown Shines Spotless Now That Yet Was Deeply Sullied In The Winning.

Art Is The Right Hand Of Nature. The Latter Has Only Given Us Being, The Former Has Made Us Men.

Have Love. Not Love Alone For One, But Man As Man They Brother Call; And Scatter Like The Circling Sun Thy Charities On All.