That In The Human Plan

The Sequoias Belong To The Silences Of The Milleniums. Many Of Them Have Seen A Hundred Human Generations Rise, Give Off Their Little Clamors And Perish. They Seem Indeed To Be Forms Of Immortality Standing Here Amoing The Transitory Shapes Of Time.

At The Heart Of The Cyclone Tearing The Sky And Flinging The Cloud And The Towers By, Is A Place Of Central Calm: So Here In The Roar Of Mortal Things, I Have A Place Where My Spirit Sings, In The Hollow Of God's Palm.

Choices Are The Hinges Of Destiny.

We Have Committed The Golden Rule To Memory; Let Us Now Commit It To Life.

For All Your Days Be Prepared, And Meet Them Ever Alike. When You Are The Anvil, Bear - When You Are The Hammer, Strike.