The Time Is Ripe, And Rotten-ripe, For

Slow Are The Steps Of Freedom, But Her Feet Turn Never Backward.

Freedom Is The Only Law Which Genius Knows.

For Humanity Sweeps Onward: Where Today The Martyr Stands, On The Morrow Crouches Judas With The Silver In His Hands; Far In Front The Cross Stands Ready And The Crackling Fagots Burn, While The Hooting Mob Of Yesterday In Silent Awe Return To Glean Up The Scattered Ashes Into History's Golden Urn.

Truth Only Needs To Be For Once Spoken Out; And There's Such Music In Her, Such Strange Rhythm, As Makes Men's Memories Her Joyous Slaves.

Fastidiousness Is Only Another Word For Egotism; And All Men Who Know Not Where To Look For Truth Save In The Narrow Well Of Self Will Find Their Own Image At The Bottom, And Mistake It For What They Are Seeking.