|THOUGHTS are flying inspirations,
Fleeting as the summer's cloud;
Grasp them, hold them, they are precious;
Silent, yet they speak aloud.
For the inspirations lifting
From the soul's deep silvered strand,
Are the fresh and brilliant jewels,
Tokens of the inner man.
Thoughts, like rivers, run to oceans,
The great sea of human lore;
But it first must fall in showers,
On the mead and marsh and moor.
Then refresh the fevered meadows,
Let some dew fall in the night;
If you cannot send the showers,
You can lend your little mite!
Selfish natures cannot broaden,
From without their narrow self;
Wealth you hold within your bosom,
Narrows more and more yourself.
Breathe afar your thoughts of meaning,
Like the dew of Hermon's plain;
"Cast your bread upon the waters;
It will turn to you again!"
__James A. DeMoss
James A. DeMoss
(Thayer, Kansas: ___. 1892)