Not On One Strand Are All Life's

Late February Days; And Now, At Last, Might You Have Thought That Winter's Woe Was Past; So Fair The Sky Was And So Soft The Air.

O Thrush, Your Song Is Passing Sweet, But Never A Song That You Have Sung Is Half So Sweet As Thrushes Sang When My Dear Love And I Were Young.

It Is For Him That Is Lonely Or In Prison To Dream Of Fellowship, But For Him That Is Of A Fellowship To Do And Not To Dream.

So I Say, If You Cannot Learn To Love Real Art; At Least Learn To Hate Sham Art And Reject It. It Is Not Because The Wretched Thing Is So Ugly And Silly And Useless That I Ask You To Cast It From You; It Is Much More Because These Are But The Outward Symbols Of The Poison That Lies Within Them; Look Through Them And See All That Has Gone To Their Fashioning, And You Will See How Vain Labour, And Sorrow, And Disgrace Have Been Their Companions From The First-and All This For Trifles That No Man Really Needs!

Forsooth, Brethren, Fellowship Is Heaven And Lack Of Fellowship Is Hell; Fellowship Is Life And Lack Of Fellowship Is Death; And The Deeds That Ye Do Upon The Earth, It Is For Fellowship's Sake That Ye Do Them.