There Is No Personal Charm

Man Said, "i Am Tired Of Kings! Sons Of The Robber-chiefs Of Yore, They Make Me Pay For Their Lust And Their War; I Am The Puppet, They Pull The Strings; The Blood Of My Heart Is The Wine They Drink. I Will Govern Myself For Awhile I Think, And See What That Brings!

Lord, When My Spirit Shall Return To Thee, At The Foot Of A Friendly Tree Let My Body Be Buried, That This Dust May Rise And Rejoice Among The Branches.

If All The World Were Music, Our Hearts Would Often Long For One Sweet Strain Of Silence. To Break The Endless Song.

In Warlike Pomp, With Banners Flowing, The Regiments Of Autumn Stood: I Saw Their Gold And Scarlet Glowing From Every Hillside, Every Wood.

What We Do Belongs To What We Are; And What We Are Is What Becomes Of Us.