I Remember Little Of The Yukon Or

Be Sure Your Wisest Words Are Those You Do Not Say.

Old Year! Upon The Stage Of Time You Stand To Bow Your Last Adieu; A Moment, And The Prompter's Chime Will Ring The Curtain Down On You.

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

It Isn't The Mountain Ahead That Wears You Out; It's The Grain Of Sand In Your Shoe.

The Lonely Sunsets Flare Forlorn Down Valleys Dreadly Desolate; The Lonely Mountains Soar In Scorn As Still As Death, As Stern As Fate.