Some People Are So Afraid

Count Not The Cost Of Honour To The Dead!the Tribute That A Mighty Nation Paysto Those Who Loved Her Well In Former Daysmeans More Than Gratitude For Glories Fled;for Every Noble Man That She Hath Bred,lives In The Bronze And Marble That We Raise,immortalised By Art's Immortal Praise,to Lead Our Sons As He Our Fathers Led.

If All The Skies Were Sunshine Our Faces Would Be Fain To Feel Once More Upon Them The Cooling Splash Of Rain. If All The World Were Music, Our Hearts Would Often Long For One Sweet Strain Of Silence, To Break The Endless Song If Life Were Always Merry, Our Souls Would Seek Relief, And Rest From Weary Laughter In The Quiet Arms Of Grief.

Subjection To Fear Is Weakness, Bondage, Feverish Unrest. To Be Afraid Is To Have No Soul That We Can Call Our Own; It Is To Be At The Beck And Call Of Alien Powers, To Be Chained And Driven And Tormented; It Is To Lose The Life Itself In The Anxious Care To Keep It.

For Ever So Our Thoughtful Hearts Repeaton Fields Of Triumph Dirges Of Defeat;and Still We Turn On Gala-days To Treadamong The Rustling Memories Of The Dead.

In The Progress Of Personality, First Comes A Declaration Of Independence, Then A Recognition Of Interdependence.