Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.

Th' ethereal mould Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair.

And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.

The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming left his voice, that he awhile Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to hear.

It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.

Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.

Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.