All thoughts that mold the age begin deep down within the primitive soul.
Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide.
Who speaks the truth stabs falsehood to the heart.
Like streams that keep a summer mind Snow-hid in Jenooary.
May is a pious fraud of the almanac.
There comes Emerson first, whose rich words, every one, Are like gold nails in temples to hang trophies on.