But Sorrow Is Better Than Fear. For

Happy The Eyes That Can Close

There Is A Lovely Road That Runs From Ixopo Into The Hills. These Hills Are Grass-covered And Rolling, And They Are Lovely Beyond Any Singing Of It.

But Perhaps When You Were Too Obedient, And Did Not Do Openly What Others Did, And Were Quiet In Church And Hard-working At School, Then Some Unknown Rebellion Brewed In You, Doing Harm To You, Though How I Do Not Understand.

And Were Your Back As Broad As Heaven, And Your Purse Full Of Gold, And Did Your Compassion Reach From Here To Hell Itself, There Is Nothing You Can Do.

The Tragedy Is Not That Things Are Broken. The Tragedy Is That Things Are Not Mended Again.