Even Goats May Have Starlight In Their

Our Breath Is Brief, And Being So Let's Make Our Heaven Here Below, And Lavish Kindness As We Go.

I Remember Little Of The Yukon Or What I Wrote There.

And Each Forgets, As He Strips And Runs With A Brilliant, Fitful Pace, It's The Steady, Quiet, Plodding Ones Who Win In The Lifelong Race. And Each Forgets That His Youth Has Fled, Forgets That His Prime Is Past, Till He Stands One Day, With A Hope That's Dead, In The Glare Of The Truth At Last.

Then You've A Hunch What The Music Meant . . . Hunger And Night And The Stars.

Some Praise The Lord For Light, The Living Spark; I Thank God For The Night The Healing Dark.