The Touch Of Time Does More Than

I Take It That I Must Be The Eternal Playfellow Of Time. For Piety And Common-sense And Death Are Rightfully Time's Toys; And It Is With These Three That I Divert Myself.

Trapped Dreams Must Die.

I Was Born, I Think, With The Desire To Make Beautiful Books — Brave Books That Would Preserve The Glories Of The Dream Untarnished, And Would Re-create Them For Battered People, And Re-awaken Joy And Magnanimity.

What Is Man That His Welfare Be Considered? An Ape Who Chatters Of Kinship With The Archangels While He Very Filthily Digs For Groundnuts. And Yet I Perceive That This Same Man Is A Maimed God. He Is Condemned Under Penalty To Measure Eternity With An Hourglass And Infinity With A Yardstick And What Is More, He Very Nearly Does It.

Sad Hours And Glad Hours, And All Hours, Pass Over; One Thing Unshaken Stays: Life, That Hath Death For Spouse, Hath Chance For Lover; Whereby Decays, Each Thing Save One Thing: Mid This Strife Diurnal, Of Hourly Change Begot, Love That Is God-born, Bides As God Eternal, And Changes Not; Nor Means A Tinseled Dream Pursuing Lovers, Find Altered By-and-bye, When, With Possession, Time Anon Discovers, Trapped Dreams Must Die, - For He That Visions God, Of Mankind Gathers, One Manlike Trait Alone, And Reverently Imputes To Him A Father's Love For His Son.