. . . The Weal

There Is The Silence Of Age, Too Full Of Wisdom For The Tongue To Utter It In Words Intelligible To Those Who Have Not Lived The Great Range Of Life.

Work For Your Own Soul's Sake.

O Maternal Earth Which Rocks The Fallen Leaf To Sleep!

To This Generation I Would Say: Memorize Some Bit Of Verse Of Truth Or Beauty.

A Giant As We Hoped, In Truth, A Dwarf; A Barrel Of Slop That Shines On Lethe's Wharf', Which At First Seemed A Vessel With Sweet Wine For Thirsty Lips. So Down The Swift Decline You Went Through Sloven Spirit, Craven Heart And Cynic Indolence. And Here The Art Of Molding Clay Has Caught You For The Nonce And Made Your Shame Our Shame ~ Your Head In Bronze!