It Is My Belief That The Only

There Is A Man Sleeping In The Grass. And Over Him Is Gathering The Greatest Storm Of All His Days. Such Lightening And Thunder Will Come There Has Never Been Seen Before, Bringing Death And Destruction. People Hurry Home Past Him, To Places Safe From Danger. And Whether They Do Not See Him There In The Grass, Or Whether They Fear To Halt Even A Moment, But They Do Not Wake Him, They Let Him Be.

The Truth Is, Our Civilization Is Not Christian; It Is A Tragic Compound Of Great Ideal And Fearful Practice, Of Loving Charity And Fearful Clutching Of Possessions.

Because Life Slips Away, And Because I Need For The Rest Of My Journey A Star That Will Not Play False To Me, A Compass That Will Not Lie.

What Broke In A Man When He Could Bring Himself To Kill Another? What Broke When He Could Bring Himself To Thrust Down The Knife Into The Warm Flesh, To Bring Down The Axe On The Living Head, To Cleave Down Between The Seeing Eyes, To Shoot The Gun That Would Drive Death Into The Beating Heart?

The Only Way In Which One Can Make Endurable Man's Inhumanity To Man, And Man's Destruction Of His Own Environment, Is To Exemplify In Your Own Lives Man's Humanity To Man And Man's Reverence For The Place In Which He Lives.