A Clear Fire, A Clean Hearth, And

I Have Done All That I Came Into This World To Do. I Have Worked Task Work, And Have The Rest Of The Day To Myself.

Not Childhood Alone, But The Young Man Till Thirty, Never Feels Practically That He Is Mortal.

Separate From The Pleasure Of Your Company, I Don't Much Care If I Never See Another Mountain In My Life.

Who First Invented Work, And Bound The Free And Holiday-rejoicing Spirit Down . . . . To That Dry Drudgery At The Desk's Dead Wood? . . . . Sabbathless Satan!

Let Us Live For The Beauty Of Our Own Reality.