The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins

What Is This Talked-of Mystery Of Birth. But Being Mounted Bareback On The Earth?

When A Friend Calls To Me From The Road And Slows His Horse To A Meaning Walk, I Don't Stand Still And Look Around On All The Hills I Haven't Hoed, And Shout From Where I Am, What Is It? No, Not As There Is A Time To Talk. I Thrust My Hoe In The Mellow Ground, Blade-end Up And Five Feet Tall, And Plod: I Go Up To The Stone Wall For A Friendly Visit.

There Is The Fear That We Shan't Prove Worthy In The Eyes Of Someone Who Knows Us At Least As Well As We Know Ourselves. That Is The Fear Of God. And There Is The Fear Of Man -fear That Men Won't Understand Us And We Shall Be Cut Of From Them.

Most Of The Change We Think We See In Life Is Due To Truths Being In And Out Of Favor.

When Work Becomes Play, And Play Becomes Your Work, Your Life Unfolds.