For What Is Evil But Good Tortured

Let Your Bending In The Archer's Hand Be For Gladness, For Even As He Loves The Arrow That Flies, So He Loves Also The Bow That Is Stable.

Because The Soul Is Like A Flower That Folds Its Petals When Dark Comes, And Breathes Not Its Fragrance Into The Phantoms Of The Night.

There Are Those Who Give And Know Not Pain In Giving, Nor Do They Seek Joy, Nor Give With Mindfulness Of Virtue; They Give As In Yonder Valley The Myrtle Breathes Its Fragrance Into Space.

The Shepherd Will Deny The Diseased Lamb In Fear Of The Flock.

When You Part From Your Friend, You Grieve Not; For That Which You Love Most In Him May Be Clearer In His Absence, As The Mountain To The Climber Is Clearer From The Plain.