There Are No Twin Souls

Music Was A Thing Of The Soul — A Rose-lipped Shell That Murmured Of The Eternal Sea — A Strange Bird Singing The Songs Of Another Shore.

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

Man's Record Upon This Wild World Is The Record Of Work, And Of Work Alone.

Almost Everywhere Men Have Become The Particular Things Which Their Particular Work Has Made Them.

The Pleasant Converse Of The Fireside, The Simple Songs Of Home, The Words Of Encouragement As I Bend Over My School-tasks, The Kiss As I Lie Down To Rest, The Patient Bearing With The Freaks Of My Restless Nature, The Gentle Counsels Mingled With Reproofs And Approvals, The Sympathy That Meets And Assuages Every Sorrow, And Sweetens Every Little Success--all These Return To Me Amid The Responsibilities Which Press Upon Me Now, And I Feel As If I Had Once Lived In Heaven, And, Straying, Had Lost My Way.