Work For Your Own Soul's Sake.

How Shall The Soul Of A Man Be Larger Than The Life He Has Lived?

. . . The Weal Of The Race, And The Cause Of Humanity, Here And Now, Are Enough To Give Life Meaning And Death As Well.

To Put Meaning In One's Life May End In Madness, But Life Without Meaning Is The Torture Of Restlessness And Vague Desire-it Is A Boat Longing For The Sea And Yet Afraid.

I Have Known The Silence Of The Stars And Of The Sea. And The Silence Of The City When It Pauses, And The Silence Of A Man And A Maid, And The Silence For Which Music Alone Finds The Word.

This Is A Man With An Old Face, Always Old... There Was Pathos, In His Face, And In His Eyes. The Early Weariness; And Sometimes Tears In His Eyes, Which He Let Slip Unconsciously On His Cheek, Or Brushed Away With An Unconcerned Hand. There Were Tears For Human Suffering, Or For A Glance Into The Vast Futility Of Life, Which He Had Seen From The First, Being Old When He Was Born.