Let Your Home Be You Mast And

Much Of Your Pain Is The Bitter Potion By Which The Physician Within You Heals Your Sick Self.

But Memory Is An Autumn Leaf That Murmurs A While In The Wind And Then Is Heard No More.

Yet Has Not Man Wept At The Sounds? And Are Not His Tears Eloquent Understanding?

When You Are Sorrowful Look Again In Your Heart, And You Shall See That In Truth You Are Weeping For That Which Has Been Your Delight. Some Of You Say, "joy Is Greater Than Sorrow," And Others Say, "nay, Sorrow Is The Greater." But I Say Unto You, They Are Inseparable. Together They Come, And When One Sits Alone With You At Your Board, Remember That The Other Is Asleep Upon Your Bed. Verily You Are Suspended Like Scales Between Your Sorrow And Your Joy.

We Who Love Him Beheld Him With These Our Eyes Which He Made To See; And We Touched Him With These Our Hands Which He Taught To Reach Forth.