If Indeed You Must Be Candid, Be

If You Reveal Your Secrets To The Wind, You Should Not Blame The Wind For Revealing Them To The Trees.

For Reason, Ruling Alone, Is A Force Confining; And Passion, Unattended, Is A Flame That Burns To Its Own Destruction.

Happiness Is A Myth We Seek, If Manifested Surely Irks; Like River Speeding To The Plain, On Its Arrival Slows And Murks. For Man Is Happy Only In His Aspiration To The Heights; When He Attains His Goal, He Cools And Longs For Other Distant Flights.

My Friends: Music Is The Language Of Spirits. Its Melody Is Like The Frolicsome Breeze That Makes The Strings Quiver With Love. When The Gentle Fingers Of Music Knock At The Door Of Our Feelings, They Awaken Memories That Have Long Lain Hidden In The Depths Of The Past. The Sad Strains Of Music Bring Us Mournful Recollections; And Her Quiet Strains Bring Us Joyful Memories. The Sound Of Strings Makes Us Weep At The Departure Of A Dear One, Or Makes Us Smile At The Peace God Has Bestowed Upon Us.

When You Work You Are A Flute Through Whose Heart The Whispering Of The Hours Turns To Music. Which Of You Would Be A Reed, Dumb And Silent, When All Else Sings Together In Unison?