How Shall The Soul Of A Man

Beware Of The Man Who Rises To Power From One Suspender.

Genius Is A Bend In The Creek Where Bright Water Has Gathered, And Which Mirrors The Trees, The Sky And The Banks. It Just Does That Because It Is There And The Scenery Is There. Talent Is A Fine Mirror With A Silver Frame, With The Name Of The Owner Engraved On The Back.

What Is This I Hear Of Sorrow And Weariness, Anger, Discontent And Drooping Hopes? Degenerate Sons And Daughters, Life Is Too Strong For You— It Takes Life To Love Life.

Such Phantom Blossoms Palely Shining Over The Lifeless Boughs Of Time.

The Dust's For Crawling, Heaven's For Flying, Wherefore, O Soul, Whose Wings Are Grown, Soar Upward To The Sun!