Trouble Is The Next Best Thing To

For In The Night, Unseen, A Single Warrior, In Sombre Harness Mailed, Dreaded Of Man, And Surnamed The Destroyer, The Rampart Wall Has Scaled. He Passed Into The Chamber Of The Sleeper, The Dark And Silent Room, And As He Entered, Darker Grew, And Deeper, The Silence And The Gloom.

Magnificent Autumn! He Comes Not Like A Pilgrim, Clad In Russet Weeds; Not Like A Hermit, Clad In Gray; But Like A Warrior With The Stain Of Blood In His Brazen Mail.

Then Followed That Beautiful Season... Summer.... Filled Was The Air With A Dreamy And Magical Light; And The Landscape Lay As If New Created In All The Freshness Of Childhood.

O, Though Oft Oppressed And Lonely, All My Fears Are Laid Aside, If I But Remember Only Such As These Have Lived And Died!

What Is Time? The Shadow On The Dial, The Striking Of The Clock, The Running Of The Sand, Day And Night, Summer And Winter, Months, Years, Centuries-these Are But Arbitrary And Outward Signs, The Measure Of Time, Not Time Itself. Time Is The Life Of The Soul.