The Welfare Of Each Is Bound Up

I Feel The Flame Of Eternity In My Soul.

I Wonder What Becomes Of Lost Opportunities? Perhaps Our Guardian Angel Gathers Them Up As We Drop Them, And Will Give Them Back To Us In The Beautiful Sometime When We Have Grown Wiser, And Learned How To Use Them Rightly.

He Who Marries The Spirit Of The Age Soon Becomes A Widower.

Use Your Eyes As If Tomorrow You Would Be Stricken Blind. Hear The Music Of Voices, The Song Of Birds, The Mighty Strains Of An Orchestra As If You Would Be Stricken Deaf Tomorrow . . . Smell The Perfume Of Flowers, Taste With Relish Each Morsel As If Tomorrow You Could Never Smell And Taste Again. Glory In All The Facts Of Pleasure And Beauty Which The World Reveals To You.

Where Once Stood The Steadfast Pines, Great, Beautiful, Sweet, My Hand Touched Raw, Moist Stumps. All About Lay Broken Branches, Like The Antlers Of Stricken Deer. The Fragrant, Piled-up Sawdust Swirled And Tumbled About Me. An Unreasoning Resentment Flashed Through Me At The Ruthless Destruction Of The Beauty That I Love.