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"Men grow by independent thought —
Self-centered action unconstrained.
Far greater he whose lines are wrought
By purpose in himself contained,
Than he who by another's will
Some petty place must daily fill —
Some tiresome, endless, dull routine,
That makes him but a mere machine."
"Toward heaven we tend, God give us grace,
To see, without great fear, His face."
"But for us the scramble is ended,
'Tis time to be sober and still;
We are nearing the mist-covered river —
Are down at the foot of the hill.
Our baskets have never been empty —
A trifle our slender store;
Yet only for you and the children
Have I ever wished for more."
Reprinted from Nebraska Legends
Copyright © 1871
by Orsamus Charles Dake
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