It Takes Something Of A Poet To

Man Is Concentric: You Have To Take Fold After Fold Off Of Him Before You Get To The Centre Of His Personality. You Must Get Below His Animal Nature, Habits, Customs, Affections, Daily Life, And Sometimes Go Away Down Into The Heart Of The Man, Before You Know What Is Really In Him. But When You Get Into The Last Core Of These Concentric Rings Of Personality You Find A Sense Of The Infinite-a Consciousness Of Immortality Linked To Something Higher And Better.

The Wild Bird That Flies So Lone And Far Has Somewhere Its Nest And Brood. A Little Fluttering Heart Of Love Impels Its Wings, And Points Its Course. There Is Nothing So Solitary As A Solitary Man.

When I Contrast The Loving Jesus, Comprehending All Things In His Ample And Tender Charity, With Those Who Profess To Bear His Name, Marking Their Zeal By What They Do Not Love, It Seems To Me As Though Men, Like The Witches Of Old, Had Read The Bible Backward, And Had Taken Incantations Out Of It For Evil, Rather Than Inspiration For Good.

We Must Die Alone. To The Very Verge Of The Stream Our Friends May Accompany Us; They May Bend Over Us, They May Cling To Us There; But That One Long Wave From The Sea Of Eternity Washes Up To The Lips, Sweeps Us From The Shore, And We Go Forth Alone! In That Untried And Utter Solitude, Then, What Can There Be For Us But The Pulsation Of That Assurance, "i Am Not Alone, Because The Father Is With Me!

It Is A Mistake To Consider Marriage Merely As A Scheme Of Happiness. It Is Also A Bond Of Service. It Is The Most Ancient Form Of That Social Ministration Which God Has Ordained For All Human Beings, And Which Is Symbolized By All The Relations Of Nature.