Truth Suffers No Loss If A Vehement

Many A Smiling Face Hides A Mourning Heart; But Grief Alone Teaches Us What We Are.

Not He Who Scorns The Saviour's Yoke Should Wear His Cross Upon The Heart.

It Is Only Through The Morning Gate Of The Beautiful That You Can Penetrate Into The Realm Of Knowledge. That Which We Feel Here As Beauty We Shall One Day Know As Truth.

When The Measured Dance Of The Hours Brings Back The Happy Smile Of Spring, The Buried Dead Is Born Again In The Life-glance Of The Sun. The Germs Which Perished To The Eye Within The Cold Breast Of The Earth Spring Up With Joy In The Bright Realm Of Day.

Without A Home Must The Soldier Go, A Changeful Wanderer, And Can Warm Himself At No Home-lit Hearth.