In Every Sorrowing Soul I

Beware The Toils Of War ... The Mesh Of The Huge Dragnet Sweeping Up The World.

It Is Equally Wrong To Speed A Guest Who Does Not Want To Go, And To Keep One Back Who Is Eager. You Ought To Make Welcome The Present Guest, And Send Forth The One Who Wishes To Go.

A Generation Of Men Is Like A Generation Of Leaves; The Wind Scatters Some Leaves Upon The Ground, While Others The Burgeoning Wood Brings Forth - And The Season Of Spring Comes On. So Of Men One Generation Springs Forth And Another Ceases.

Behold, On Wrong Swift Vengeance Waits; And Art Subdues The Strong.

It Is Wrong To Sorrow Without Ceasing.