What Men Prize Most Is

All Thoughts That Mold The Age Begin Deep Down Within The Primitive Soul.

The Green Grass Floweth Like A Stream Into The Oceans's Blue.

Here Come The Hum The Golden Bees Underneath Full Blossomed Trees, At Once With Glowing Fruit And Flowers Crowned.

Greatly Begin. Though Thou Have Time, But For A Line, Be That Sublime. Not Failure, But Low Aim Is Crime.

With Every Anguish Of Our Earthly Part The Spirit's Sight Grows Clearer.