A picket frozen on duty - A mother starved for her brood - Socrates drinking the hemlock, And Jesus on the rood; And millions who, humble and nameless, The straight, hard pathway trod - Some call it Consecration, And others call it God.
The best things are nearest: breath in your nostrils, light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, duties at your hand, the path of God just before you. Then do not grasp at the stars, but do life's plain, common work as it comes, certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things of life.
The one permanent emotion of the inferior man is fear-fear of the unknown, the complex, the inexplicable. What he wants beyond everything else is safety.