At The Heart Of The Cyclone Tearing

Three Were The Fates. Poverty That Chains; Gray Drudgery That Grinds The Hope Away, And Gaping Ignorance That Starves The Soul.

There Is A Destiny Which Makes Us Brothers; None Goes His Way Alone. All That We Send Into The Lives Of Others Comes Back Into Our Own.

I (god) Will Leave Man To Make The Fateful Guess, Will Leave Him Torn Between The No And Yes, Leave Him Unresting Till He Rests In Me, Drawn Upward By The Choice That Makes Him Free, Leave Him In Tragic Loneliness To Choose, With All In Life To Win Or All To Lose.

Fight Ever On: This Earthly Stuff If Used God’s Way Will Be Enough. Face To The Firing Line O Friend Fight Out Life’s Battle To The End. One Soldier, When The Fight Was Red, Threw Down His Broken Sword And Fled. Another Snatched It, Won The Day, With What His Comrade Flung Away.

At The Heart Of The Cyclone Tearing The Sky Is A Place Of Central Calm.