Not the bird that soars the highest, Nor whose plumage is the brightest, But the bird that sings the sweetest Is the bird I prize. Not the flower that blooms the tallest, Nor whose petals are the whitest, But whose fragrance is completest Satisfies my eyes. Not the brook that laughs the loudest, Nor whose waters are the purest, But the brook that runs the fleetest To the mill and sea. Not the soul that soars the quickest, But whose faith in God is surest, And whose record is the neatest Is the soul for me.
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