The Debts We Owe Ourselves Are The

Days, When The Ball Of Our Vision Had Eagles That Flew Unabashed To Sun; When The Graps On The Bow Was Decision, And Arrow And Hand And Eye Were One; When The Pleasures, Like Waves To A Swimmer, Came Heaving For Rapture Ahead! - Invoke Them, They Dwindle, They Glimmer As Lights Over Mounds Of The Dead.

How Many A Thing Which We Cast To The Ground, When Others Pick It Up, Becomes A Gem!

I Expect Woman Will Be The Last Thing Civilized By Man.

For Singing Till His Heaven Fills, 'tis Love Of Earth That He Instills, And Ever Winging Up And Up, Our Valley Is His Golden Cup, And He The Wine Which Over Flows To Lift Us With Him As He Goes.

Around The Ancient Track Marched, Rank On Rank, The Army Of Unalterable Law.