It Takes Life To Love Life.

Such Phantom Blossoms Palely Shining Over The Lifeless Boughs Of Time.

And I Never Started To Plow In My Life That Some One Did Not Stop In The Road And Take Me Away To A Dance Or Picnic. I Ended Up With Forty Acres; I Ended Up With A Broken Fiddle— And A Broken Laugh, And A Thousand Memories, And Not A Single Regret.

This Is A Man With An Old Face, Always Old... There Was Pathos, In His Face, And In His Eyes. The Early Weariness; And Sometimes Tears In His Eyes, Which He Let Slip Unconsciously On His Cheek, Or Brushed Away With An Unconcerned Hand. There Were Tears For Human Suffering, Or For A Glance Into The Vast Futility Of Life, Which He Had Seen From The First, Being Old When He Was Born.

To Put Meaning In One's Life May End In Madness, But Life Without Meaning Is The Torture Of Restlessness And Vague Desire-it Is A Boat Longing For The Sea And Yet Afraid.

. . . The Weal Of The Race, And The Cause Of Humanity, Here And Now, Are Enough To Give Life Meaning And Death As Well.