We Do Not Work For Men. We

Pain And Suffering, They Are A Secret. Kindness And Love, They Are A Secret. But I Have Learned That Kindness And Love Can Pay For Pain And Suffering.

What Broke In A Man When He Could Bring Himself To Kill Another?

There Is Not Much Talking Now. A Silence Falls Upon Them All. This Is No Time To Talk Of Hedges And Fields, Or The Beauties Of Any Country. Sadness And Fear And Hate, How They Well Up In The Heart And Mind, Whenever One Opens Pages Of These Messengers Of Doom. Cry For The Broken Tribe, For The Law And The Custom That Is Gone. Aye, And Cry Aloud For The Man Who Is Dead, For The Woman And Children Bereaved. Cry, The Beloved Country, These Things Are Not Yet At An End. The Sun Pours Down On The Earth, On The Lovely Land That Man Cannot Enjoy. He Knows Only The Fear Of His Heart.

But Perhaps When You Were Too Obedient, And Did Not Do Openly What Others Did, And Were Quiet In Church And Hard-working At School, Then Some Unknown Rebellion Brewed In You, Doing Harm To You, Though How I Do Not Understand.

It Is Not Permissible To Add To One's Possesions If These Things Can Only Be Done At The Cost Of Other Men. Such Development Has Only One True Name, And That Is Exploitation.