For A Moment Of Night We Have

Into Every Empty Corner, Into All Forgotten Things And Nooks, Nature Struggles To Pour Life, Pouring Life Into The Dead, Life Into Life Itself.

Nature Is A Part Of Our Humanity, And Without Some Awareness And Experience Of That Divine Mystery Man Ceases To Be Man.

If There Is One Thing Clear About The Centuries Dominated By The Factory And The Wheel, It Is That Although The Machine Can Make Everything From A Spoon To A Landing-craft, A Natural Joy In Earthly Living Is Something It Never Has And Never Will Be Able To Manufacture.

Hold Your Hands Out Over The Earth As Over A Flame. To All Who Love Her, Who Open To Her The Doors Of Their Veins, She Gives Of Her Strength, Sustaining Them With Her Own Measureless Tremor Of Dark Life. Touch The Earth, Love The Earth, Honor The Earth, Her Plains, Her Valleys, Her Hills, And Her Seas; Rest Your Spirit In Her Solitary Places. For The Gifts Of Life Are The Earth's And They Are Given To All, And They Are The Songs Of Birds At Daybreak, Orion And The Bear, And Dawn Seen Over Ocean From The Beach.

We Patronize The Animals For Their Incompleteness, For Their Tragic Fate Of Having Taken Form So Far Below Ourselves. And Therein We Err, And Greatly Err. For The Animal Shall Not Be Measured By Man. In A World Older And More Complete Than Ours, They Are More Finished And Complete, Gifted With Extensions Of The Senses We Have Lost Or Never Attained, Living By Voices We Shall Never Hear. They Are Not Brethren, They Are Not Underlings; They Are Other Nations, Caught With Ourselves In The Net Of Life And Time.