Cost Is The Father And

The Soul, Like The Body, Lives By What It Feeds On.

All Things Unrevealed Belong To The Kingdom Of Mystery.

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

No Genuine Observer Can Decide Otherwise Than That The Homes Of A Nation Are The Bulwarks Of Personal And National Safety And Thrift.

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.