Love Is A Flame To Burn Out

Life's Battle Is A Conquest For The Strong; The Meaning Shows In The Defeated Thing.

Death Opens Unknown Doors. It Is Most Grand To Die.

Off Cape Horn There Are But Two Kinds Of Weather, Neither One Of Them A Pleasant Kind.

In The Dark Room Where I Began My Mother's Life Made Me A Man. Through All The Months Of Human Birth Her Beauty Fed My Common Earth. I Cannot See, Nor Breathe, Nor Stir, But Through The Death Of Some Of Her.

When The Last Sea Is Sailed And Last Shallow Charted, When The Last Field Is Reaped And The Last Harvest Stored, When The Last Fire Is Out And The Last Guest Departed Grant The Last Prayer That I Pray, Be Good To Me, O Lord.