Good Friends Walk In When The Old

Truly I Have Looked In The Very Heart Of Darkness And Refused To Yield To Its Paralyzing Influence, But In Spirit I Am One Of Those Who Walk The Morning.

I Am Conscious Of A Soul-sense That Lifts Me Above The Narrow, Cramping Circumstances Of My Life. My Physical Limitations Are Forgotten- My World Lies Upward, The Length And The Breadth And The Sweep Of The Heavens Are Mine!

If We Believe That The Sun And Moon Hang In The Sky For Our Delight, There Will Be Joy Upon The Hills And Gladness In The Fields.

The Hands Of Those I Meet Are Dumbly Eloquent To Me. The Touch Of Some Hands Is An Impertinence. I Have Met People So Empty Of Joy, That When I Clasped Their Frosty Finger-tips, It Seemed As If I Were Shaking Hands With A Northeast Storm.

I Sometimes Wonder If The Hand Is Not More Sensitive To The Beauties Of Sculpture Than The Eye. I Should Think The Wonderful Rhythmical Flow Of Lines And Curves Could Be More Subtly Felt Than Seen. Be This As It May, I Know That I Can Feel The Heart-throbs Of The Ancient Greeks In Their Marble Gods And Goddesses.