The Cold Passion For Truth Hunts In

Justice And Mercy/ Are Human Dreams, They Do Not Concern The Birds Nor The Fish Nor Eternal God.

If You Should Look For This Place After A Handful Of Lifetimes: Perhaps Of My Planted Forest A Few May Stand Yet, Dark-leaved Australians Or The Coast Cypress, Haggard With Storm-drift; But Fire And The Axe Are Devils. Look For Foundations Of Sea-worn Granite, My Fingers Had The Art To Make Stone Love Stone, You Will Find Some Remnant.

O That Our Souls Could Scale A Height Like This, A Mighty Mountain Swept O'er By The Bleak Keen Winds Of Heaven; And, Standing On That Peak Above The Blinding Clouds Of Prejudice, Would We Could See All Truly As It Is; The Calm Eternal Truth Would Keep Us Meek.

God Is A Lion That Comes In The Night. God Is A Hawk Gliding Among The Stars-- If All The Stars And The Earth, And The Living Flesh Of The Night That Flows In Between Them, And Whatever Is Beyond Them Were That One Bird. He Has A Bloody Beak And Harsh Talons, He Pounces And Tears.

Civilization Is A Transient Sickness.