Have Nothing In Your House That You

Earth, Left Silent By The Wind Of Night,seems Shrunken 'neath The Gray Unmeasured Height.

One Man With An Idea In His Head Is In Danger Of Being Considered A Madman: Two Men With The Same Idea In Common May Be Foolish, But Can Hardly Be Mad; Ten Men Sharing An Idea Begin To Act, A Hundred Draw Attention As Fanatics, A Thousand And Society Begins To Tremble, A Hundred Thousand And There Is War Abroad, And The Cause Has Victories Tangible And Real; And Why Only A Hundred Thousand? Why Not A Hundred Million And Peace Upon The Earth? You And I Who Agree Together, It Is We Who Have To Answer That Question.

No Man Is Good Enough To Be Another's Master.

I Pondered All These Things, And How Men Fight And Lose The Battle, And The Thing That They Fought For Comes About In Spite Of Their Defeat, And When It Comes Turns Out Not To Be What They Meant, And Other Men Have To Fight For What They Meant Under Another Name.

In Prison Wearily, Drearily, Half The Day Long, Flap The Great Banners High Over The Stone; Strangely And Eerily Sounds The Wind's Song, Bending The Banner-poles. While, All Alone, Watching The Loophole's Spark, Lie I, With Life All Dark, Feet Tethered, Hands Fettered Fast To The Stone, The Grim Walls, Square Lettered With Prisoned Men's Groan. Still Strain The Banner-poles Through The Wind's Song, Westward The Banner Rolls Over My Wrong.