I Wonder Why We Hate The Past

Out Of The Fragrant Heart Of Bloom, The Bobolinks Are Singing; Out Of The Fragrant Heart Of Bloom The Apple-tree Whispers To The Room, "why Art Thou But A Nest Of Gloom While The Bobolinks Are Singing?

The Conqueror Is Regarded With Awe; The Wise Man Commands Our Respect; But It Is Only The Benevolent Man That Wins Our Affection.

He Who Sleeps In Continual Noise Is Wakened By Silence.

It Is The Still, Small Voice That The Soul Heeds, Not The Deafening Blasts Of Doom.

Wisdom And Goodness Are Twin-born, One Heart Must Hold Both Sisters, Never Seen Apart.