Most Roads Lead Men Homewards, My Road

I Must Down To The Seas Again, To The Vagrant Gypsy Life, To The Gull's Way And The Whale's Way Where The Wind's Like A Whetted Knife And All I Ask Is A Merry Yarn From A Laughing Fellow Rover, And Quiet Sleep And A Sweet Dream When The Long Trick's Over.

Life's Battle Is A Conquest For The Strong; The Meaning Shows In The Defeated Thing.

It Is Too Maddening. I've Got To Fly Off, Right Now, To Some Devilish Navy Yard, 3 Hours In A Seasick Steamer, & After Being Heartily Sick, I'll Have To Speak 3 Times, & Then Be Sick Coming Home. Still, Who Would Not Be Sick For England?

Heaven To Me's A Fair Blue Stretch Of Sky, Earth's Jest A Dusty Road.

The Corn That Makes The Holy Bread By Which The Soul Of Man Is Fed, The Holy Bread, The Food Unpriced, Thy Everlasting Mercy, Christ.