Behind The Clouds Is The Sun Still

God Is Not Dead; Nor Doth He Sleep; ... The Wrong Shall Fail, The Right Prevail, With Peace On Earth, Good Will To Men.

Alas! It Is Not Till Time, With Reckless Hand, Has Torn Out Half The Leaves From The Book Of Human Life To Light The Fires Of Passion With From Day To Day, That Man Begins To See That The Leaves Which Remain Are Few In Number.

In December Ring Every Day The Chimes; Loud The Gleemen Sing In The Streets Their Merry Rhymes. Let Us By The Fire Ever Higher Sing Them Till The Night Expire!

To Be Seventy Years Old Is Like Climbing The Alps. You Reach A Snow-crowned Summit, And See Behind You The Deep Valley Stretching Miles And Miles Away, And Before You Other Summits Higher And Whiter, Which You May Have Strength To Climb, Or May Not. Then You Sit Down And Meditate And Wonder Which It Will Be.

Even Cities Have Their Graves!