If There Is A Witness To My

Tell Her This And More,— That The King Of The Seas Weeps Too, Old, Helpless Man. The Bustling Fates Heap His Hands With Corpses Until He Stands Like A Child With Surplus Of Toys.

These Stupid Peasants, Who, Throughout The World, Hold Potentates On Their Thrones, Make Statesmen Illustrious, Provide Generals With Lasting Victories, All With Ignorance, Indifference, Or Half-witted Hatred, Moving The World With The Strength Of Their Arms, And Getting Their Heads Knocked Together In The Name Of God, The King, Or The Stock Exchange-immortal, Dreaming, Hopeless Asses, Who Surrender Their Reason To The Care Of A Shining Puppet, And Persuade Some Toy To Carry Their Lives In His Purse.

A Man With A Full Stomach And The Respect Of His Fellows Had No Business To Scold About Anything That He Might Think To Be Wrong In The Ways Of The Universe, Or Even With The Ways Of Society. Let The Unfortunates Rail; The Others May Play Marbles.

Mother, Whose Heart Hung Humble As A Button The Bright Splendid Shroud Of Your Son, Do Not Weep. War Is Kind.

It Was Not Well To Drive Men Into Final Corners; At Those Moments They Could All Develop Teeth And Claws.