The Quality Of Life, Which In The

Hold Your Hands Out Over The Earth As Over A Flame. To All Who Love Her, Who Open To Her The Doors Of Their Veins, She Gives Of Her Strength, Sustaining Them With Her Own Measureless Tremor Of Dark Life. Touch The Earth, Love The Earth, Honor The Earth, Her Plains, Her Valleys, Her Hills, And Her Seas; Rest Your Spirit In Her Solitary Places. For The Gifts Of Life Are The Earth's And They Are Given To All, And They Are The Songs Of Birds At Daybreak, Orion And The Bear, And Dawn Seen Over Ocean From The Beach.

The Quality Of Life, Which In The Ardour Of Spring Was Personal And Sexual, Becomes Social In Midsummer.

The Seas Are The Heart's Blood Of The Earth.

We Of The Age Of The Machines, Having Delivered Ourselves Of Nocturnal Enemies, Now Have A Dislike Of Night Itself. With Lights And Ever More Lights, We Drive The Holiness And Beauty Of Night Back To The Forests And The Sea.

We Need Another And A Wiser And A Perhaps More Mystical Concept Of Animals.