Not his the feasters wine, Nor gold, nor land, nor power By want and pain God screeneth him Till his appointed hour. Go, speed the stars of thought On to their shining goals The sower scatters broad his seed, The wheat thou strewst be souls. I want to tell you something, Gentlemen. Eternity is very long. Opportunity is a very little portion of it, but worth the whole of it. If God gaye me my choice of the whole planet or my little farm, I should certainly take my farm.