My Religion Of Life Is Always To

Prepare, You Lovers, To Know Love A Thing Of Moods: Not Like Hard Life, Of Laws.

Not Till The Fire Is Dying In The Grate, Look We For Any Kinship With The Stars. Oh, Wisdom Never Comes When It Is Gold, And The Great Price We Paid For It Full Worth: We Have It Only When We Are Half Earth. Little Avails That Coinage To The Old!

The Well Of True Wit Is Truth Itself.

Around The Ancient Track Marched, Rank On Rank, The Army Of Unalterable Law.

For Singing Till His Heaven Fills, 'tis Love Of Earth That He Instills, And Ever Winging Up And Up, Our Valley Is His Golden Cup, And He The Wine Which Over Flows To Lift Us With Him As He Goes.