What We Do Belongs To What We

Time Is: Too Slow For Those Who Wait, Too Swift For Those Who Fear.

As Long As Habit And Routine Dictate The Pattern Of Living, New Dimensions Of The Soul Will Not Emerge.

A Little While The Rose, And After That The Thorn; An Hour Of Dewy Morn, And Then The Glamour Goes. Ah, Love In Beauty Born, A Little While The Rose!

I Heard Through The Nightthe Rush And The Clamour;the Pulse Of The Fightlike Blows Of Thor's Hammer;the Pattering Flightof The Leaves, And The Anguishedmoan Of The Forest Vanquished.

How Fascinating Is Death, The Extinction Of Life. One Moment Here And The Next Gone. The Light Put Out And Only The Empty Bag Of The Body Left.