THERE IS A looker-on who sits behind my eyes. It seems he has seen things in ages and worlds beyond memory's shore, and those forgotten sights glisten on the grass, and shiver on the leaves. He has seen under new veils the face of the one beloved, in twilight hours of many a nameless star. Therefore his sky seems to ache with the pain of countless meetings and partings, and a longing pervades this spring breeze,-the longing that is full of the whisper of ages without beginning.
LET THE EARTH and the water, the air and the fruits of my country be sweet, my God. Let the homes and marts, the forests and fields of my country be full, my God Let the promises and hopes, the deeds and words of my country be true, my God. Let the lives and hearts of the sons and daughters of my country be one, my God.
