Hate Is A Dead Thing.

Behind The Veil Of Each Night, There Is A Smilling Dawn.

At Ebb Tide I Wrote A Line Upon The Sand, And Gave It All My Heart And All My Soul. At Flood Tide I Returned To Read What I Had Inscribed And Found My Ignorance Upon The Shore.

Pity The Nation Whose Statesman Is A Fox, Whose Philosopher Is A Juggler, And Whose Art Is The Art Of Patching And Mimicking. Pity The Nation That Welcomes Its New Ruler With Trumpetings, And Farewells Him With Hootings, Only To Welcome Another Ruler With Trumpetings Again. Pity The Nation Whose Sages Are Dumb With Years And Whose Strong Men Are Yet In The Cradle. Pity The Nation Divided Into Fragments, Each Fragment Deeming Itself A Nation.

Seven Times Have I Despised My Soul: The Sixth Time When She Despised The Ugliness Of A Face, And Knew Not That It Was One Of Her Own Masks.

My God, My Aim And My Fulfillment; I Am Thy Yesterday And Thou Are My Tomorrow. I Am They Root In The Earth And Thou Art My Flower In The Sky, And Together We Grow Before The Face Of The Sun.