When We Walk Towards The Sun Of

He That Respects Himself Is Safe From Others. He Wears A Coat Of Mail That None Can Pierce.

The Country Is Not Priest-ridded, But Press-ridden.

Men Are Four; He Who Knows And Knows Not That He Knows. He Is Asleep; Wake Him. He Who Knows Not And Knows Not That He Knows Not. He Is A Fool; Shun Him. He Who Knows Not And Knows That He Knows Not. He Is A Child; Teach Him. He Who Knows And Knows That He Knows. He Is A King; Follow Him. The Heights By Great Men Reached And Kept Were Not Attained By Sudden Flight, But They, While Their Companions Slept, Were Toiling Upward In The Night.

But Ah! What Once Has Been Shall Be No More! The Groaning Earth In Travail And In Pain Brings Forth Its Races, But Does Not Restore, And The Dead Nations Never Rise Again.

Look At This Vigorous Plant That Lifts Its Head From The Meadow, See How Its Leaves Are Turned To The North, As True As The Magnet; This Is The Compass-flower, That The Finger Of God Has Planted Here In The Houseless Wild, To Direct The Traveller's Journey. Over The Sea-like, Pathless, Limitless Waste Of The Desert, Such In The Soul Of Man Is Faith.