My God, My Aim And My Fulfillment;

Poetry, My Dear Friends, Is A Sacred Incarnation Of A Smile. Poetry Is A Sigh That Dries The Tears. Poetry Is A Spirit Who Dwells In The Soul, Whose Nourishment Is The Heart, Whose Wine Is Affection. Poetry That Comes Not In This Form Is A False Messiah.

When Love Beckons To You, Follow Him, Though His Ways Are Hard And Steep.

Men Would Bless You Or Curse You; The Curse, A Protest Against Failure, The Blessing, A Hymn Of The Hunter Who Comes Back From The Hills With Provision For His Mate.

The Very Strength That Protects The Heart From Injury Is The Strength That Prevents The Heart From Enlarging To Its Intended Greatness Within. The Song Of The Voice Is Sweet, But The Song Of The Heart Is The Pure Voice Of Heaven.

Humanity Looks Upon Jesus The Nazarene As A Poor-born Who Suffered Misery And Humiliation With All Of The Weak. And He Is Pitied, For Humanity Believes He Was Crucified Painfully. . . . And All That Humanity Offers To Him Is Crying And Wailing And Lamentation. For Centuries Humanity Has Been Worshiping Weakness In The Person Of The Savior. The Nazarene Was Not Weak! He Was Strong And Is Strong! But The People Refuse To Heed The True Meaning Of Strength.