THOSE WHO walk on the path of pride crushing the lowly life under their tread, covering the tender green of the earth with their footprints in blood;
Let them rejoice, and thank thee, Lord, for the day is theirs.
But I am thankful that my lot lies with the humble who suffer and bear the burden of power, and hide their faces and stifle their sobs in the dark.
For every throb of their pain has pulsed in the secret depth of the night, and every insult has been gathered into thy great silence.
And the morrow is theirs.
O Sun, rise upon the bleeding hearts blossoming in flowers of the morning, and the torchlight revelry of pride shrunken to ashes.

I FELT I SAW your face, and I launched my boat in the dark.
Now the morning breaks in smiles and the spring flowers are in bloom.
Yet should the light fail and the flowers fade I will sail onward.
When you made mute signal to me the world slumbered and the
darkness was bare.
Now the bells ring loud and the boat is laden with gold.
Yet should the bells become silent and my boat be empty I will sail onward.
Some boats have gone away and some are not ready, but I will not
tarry behind.
The sails have filled, the birds come from the other shore.
Yet, if the sails droop, if the message of the shore be lost, I will sail onward.

I AM GLAD you will not wait for me with that lingering pity in your look.
        It is only the spell of the night and my farewell words, startled at their own tune of despair, which bring these tears to my eyes. But day will dawn, my eyes will dry and my heart; and there will be no time for weeping.
Who says it is hard to forget?
        The mercy of death works at life's core, bringing it respite from its own foolish persistence.
        The stormy sea is lulled at last in its rocking-cradle; the forest fire falls to sleep on its bed of ashes.
        You and I shall part, and the cleavage will be hidden under living grass and flowers that laugh in the sun.