It is time to wake up. Everything is alive, as we must also be. It is far too easy to submit to the hot sleep of summer, and forget that there is so much to be accomplished. It is a sad life that comes to its end, to find that nothing has been accomplished, but this is the constant complaint of America. The wasted life; the lost time. Why is there so little greatness in the world? We are to blame. To achieve, we must first try. We love to dream, but dreaming is emptiness. Do, and if doing does not succeed, then do again and again, until you find the thing that you are meant to do.
O God, to whom has wisdom been revealed?
Not I, who can contain it, but the little ones, the flowers of the field,
who number out their momentary days
in melodies of soft, unspoken praise,
and ever yield.