The Time Is Ripe, And Rotten-ripe, For

The Pale And Quiet Moon Makes Her Calm Forehead Bare, And The Last Fragments Of The Storm, Like Shattered Rigging From A Fight At Sea, Silent And Few, Are Drifting Over Me.

Wut 's Words To Them Whose Faith An' Truth On War's Red Techstone Rang True Metal; Who Ventered Life An' Love An' Youth For The Gret Prize O' Death In Battle?

Not As All Other Women Are Is She That To My Soul Is Dear; Her Glorious Fancies Come From Far, Beneath The Silver Evening Star, And Yet Her Heart Is Ever Near.

Those Who Love Are But One Step From Heaven.

To Put More Faith In Lies And Hate Than Truth And Love, Is The True Atheism.