Childhood Is Measured Out By Sounds And

History Must Not Be Written With Bias, And Both Sides Must Be Given, Even If There Is Only One Side.

Now If The Harvest Is Over, And The World Cold, Give Me The Bonus Of Laughter, As I Lose Hold.

What The Londoner Sees In His Mind's Eye Is That Cluster Of Towers And Pinnacles Seen From Pentonville Hill And Outlined Against A Foggy Sunset, And The Great Arc Of Barlow's Train Shed Gaping To Devour Incoming Engines, And The Sudden Burst Of Exuberant Gothic Of The Hotel Seen From Gloomy Judd Street.

And London Shops On Christmas Eve Are Strung With Silver Bells And Flowers As Hurrying Clerks The City Leave To Pigeon-haunted Classic Towers, And Marbled Clouds Go Scudding By The Many-steepled London Sky

Hymn Tunes Are The Nearest We've Got To English Folk Music.