Come To Me In My

The Strongest Part Of A Religion Today Is Its Unconscious Poetry

And Long We Try In Vain To Speak And Act Our Hidden Self, And What We Say And Do Is Eloquent, Is Well -- But 'tis Not True!

Resolve To Be Thyself: And Know That He Who Finds Himself, Loses His Misery.

With Aching Hands And Bleeding Feet We Dig And Heap, Lay Stone On Stone; We Bear The Burden And The Heat Of The Long Day, And Wish 'twere Done. Not Till The Hours Of Light Return All We Have Built Do We Discern.

What Shelter To Grow Ripe Is Ours? What Leisure To Grow Wise?