He Alone Is Great Who Turns The

I Wash My Hands Of Those Who Imagine Chattering To Be Knowledge, Silence To Be Ignorance, And Affection To Be Art.

And When You Were A Silent Word Upon Life's Quivering Lips, I Too Was There, Another Silent Word. Then Life Uttered Us And We Came Down The Years Throbbing With Memories Of Yesterday And With Longing For Tomorrow, For Yesterday Was Death Conquered And Tomorrow Was Birth Pursued.

And If There Come The Singers, And The Dancers And The Flute Players - Buy Of Their Gifts Also. For They Too Are Gatherers Of Fruit And Frankincense, And That Which They Bring, Though Fashioned Of Dreams, Is Raiment And Fod For Your Soul.

And Alone And Without His Nest Shall The Eagle Fly Across The Sun.

And Is Not Time Even As Love Is, Undivided And Paceless? But If In You Thought You Must Measure Time Into Seasons, Let Each Season Encircle All The Other Seasons, And Let Today Embrace The Past With Remembrance And The Future With Longing.