A Little While, A Moment Of Rest

Pity The Nation Whose Statesman Is A Fox, Whose Philosopher Is A Juggler, And Whose Art Is The Art Of Patching And Mimicking. Pity The Nation That Welcomes Its New Ruler With Trumpetings, And Farewells Him With Hootings, Only To Welcome Another Ruler With Trumpetings Again. Pity The Nation Whose Sages Are Dumb With Years And Whose Strong Men Are Yet In The Cradle. Pity The Nation Divided Into Fragments, Each Fragment Deeming Itself A Nation.

When You Reach The Heart Of Life You Shall Find Beauty In All Things, Even In The Eyes That Are Blind To Beauty.

The Voice Of Life In Me Cannot Reach The Ear Of Life In You; But Let Us Talk That We May Not Feel Lonely.

But If You Love And Must Needs Have Desires, Let These Be Your Desires: To Melt And Be Like A Running Brook That Sings Its Melody To The Night. To Know The Pain Of Too Much Tenderness. To Be Wounded By Your Own Understanding Of Love; And To Bleed Willingly And Joyfully. To Wake At Dawn With A Winged Heart And Give Thanks For Another Day Of Loving; To Rest At Noon Hour And Meditate Love's Ecstasy; To Return Home At Eventide With Gratitude; And Then To Sleep With A Prayer For The Beloved In Your Heart And A Song Of Praise On Your Lips.

And Ever Has It Been Known That Love Knows Not Its Own Depth Until The Hour Of Separation.