For As Fire Is Kindled

Sprinkled Along The Waste Of Years Full Many A Soft Green Isle Appears: Pause Where We May Upon The Desert Road, Some Shelter Is In Sight, Some Sacred Safe Abode.

The Watchful Mother Tarries Nigh Though Sleep Have Closed Her Infant's Eye, For Should He Wake, And Find Her Gone.

For As Fire Is Kindled By Fire, So Is A Poet's Mind Kindled By Contact With A Brother Poet.

Once You Make Up Your Mind Never To Stand Waiting And Hesitating When Your Conscience Tells You What You Ought To Do, And You Have Got The Key To Every Blessing That A Sinner Can Reasonably Hope For.

Peace Is The First Thing The Angels Sang.