And On This Earth Of Ours There

As Soon As We Put Something Into Words, We Devalue It In A Strange Way. We Think We Have Plunged Into The Depths Of The Abyss, And When We Return To The Surface The Drop Of Water On Our Pale Fingertips No Longer Resembles The Sea From Which It Comes. We Delude Ourselves That We Have Discovered A Wonderful Treasure Trove, And When We Return To The Light Of Day We Find That We Have Brought Back Only False Stones And Shards Of Glass; And Yet The Treasure Goes On Glimmering In The Dark, Unaltered.

At Every Crossroads On The Path That Leads To The Future, Tradition Has Placed 10,000 Men To Guard The Past.

The Manner In Which The Hours Of Freedom Are Spent Determines, No Less Than Labor And War, The Moral Worth Of A Nation.

They Think That Nothing Will Happen Because They Have Closed Their Doors, And They Do Not Know That It Is In The Soul That Things Always Happen, And That The World Does Not End At Their Housedoor.

The Hour Of Justice Does Not Strike On The Dials Of This World.