But the shadow of mind is light, and earth is filled with its glory.
And thou, student of the truth, commended to the praise of God,
Wouldst thou find applause with men?—seek it not, nor shun it.
Ancient fame is roofed in cedar, and her walls are marble;
Modern fame lodgeth in a hut, a slight and temporary dwelling:
Lay not up the treasures of thy soul within so damp a chamber,
For the moth of detraction shall fret thy robe, and drop its eggs upon thy motive;
Or the rust of disheartening reserve shall spoil the lustre of thy gold,
Until its burnished beauty shall be dim as tarnished brass;
Or thieves, breaking through to steal, shall claim thy jewelled thoughts,