We search the world for truth; we cull 

The good, the pure, the beautiful, 

From graven stone and written scroll, 

From old flower-fields of the soul; 

And weary seekers of the best, 

We come back laden from the quest, 

To find that all the sages said 

Is in the book our mothers read; 

And all our treasures of old thought 

In his harmonious fullness wrought, 

Who gathers in one sheaf complete 

The scattered blades of God's sown wheat, 

The common growth that maketh good 

His all-embracing Fatherhood.