God Warms His Hands At Man's Heart

In This Life He Laughs Longest Who Laughs Last.

Man With His Burning Soul Has But An Hour Of Breath To Build A Ship Of Truth In Which His Soul May Sail- Sail On The Sea Of Death. For Death Takes Toll Of Beauty, Courage, Youth, Of All But Truth.

So Death Obscures Your Gentle Form, So Memory Strives To Make The Darkness Bright; And, In That Heap Of Rocks, Your Body Lies, Part Of The Island Till The Planet Ends, My Gentle Comrade, Beautiful And Wise, Part Of This Crag This Bitter Surge Offends, While I, Who Pass, A Little Obscure Thing, War With This Force, And Breathe, And Am Its King.

It Ought To Have Gangsters, And Aeroplanes And A Lot Of Automatic Pistols.

Life's Battle Is A Conquest For The Strong; The Meaning Shows In The Defeated Thing.