It Is Always In Season For Old

Pain Lays Not Its Touch Upon A Corpse.

The Holy Heaven Yearns To Wound The Earth, And Yearning Layeth Hold On The Earth To Join In Wedlock; The Rain, Fallen From The Amorous Heaven, Impregnates The Earth, And It Bringeth Forth For Mankind The Food Of Flocks And Herds And Demeter's Gifts; And From That Moist Marriage-rite The Woods Put On Their Bloom.

Words Are Healers Of The Sick Tempered.

But Let The Good Prevail.

For The Mighty, Even To Give Away Is Grace.