A Life Is Black, Whiten It As

Patriotism! It Is Used To Define So Many Diversities, To Justify So Many Wrongs, To Compass So Many Ends, That Its Life Is Killed Out; It Becomes A Dead Word In The Vocabulary-a Blank Counter, To Be Moved To Any Part Of The Game; And That Flag Which, Streaming From The Mast-head Of Our Ship Of State, Striped With Martyr-blood, And Glistening With The Stars Of Lofty Promise, Should Always Indicate Our Worldwide Mission, And The Glorious Destinies That We Carry Forward, Is Bandied About In Every Selfish Skirmish, And Held Up As The Symbol Of Every Political Privateer.

Death, Is Not An End, But A Transition Crisis. All The Forms Of Decay Are But Masks Of Regeneration--the Secret Alembics Of Vitality.

The Gospel Has But A Forced Alliance With War. Its Doctrine Of Human Brotherhood Would Ring Strangely Between The Opposed Ranks. The Bellowing Speech Of Cartoon And The Baptism Of Blood Mock Its Liturgies And Sacraments. Its Gentle Beatitudes Would Hardly Serve As Mottoes For Defiant Banners, Nor Its List Of Graces As Names For Ships-of-the-line.

Life Is A Crucible. We Are Thrown Into It And Tried.

Gaiety Is Often The Reckless Ripple Over Depths Of Despair.