“ A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty. ”
The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep tonight.
~ William C. Bryant
The groves were God's first temples.
The little windflower, whose just opened eye is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
