Your Living Is Determined Not So Much

As The Strings Of A Lute Are Apart Though They Quiver The Same Music.

Am I A Harp That The Hand Of The Mighty May Touch Me, Or A Flute That His Breath May Pass Through Me? A Seeker Of Silences Am I, And What Treasure Have I Found In Silences That I May Dispense With Confidence?

Your Friend Is Your Needs Answered. He Is Your Field Which You Sow With Love And Reap With Thanksgiving. And He Is Your Board And Your Fireside. For You Come To Him With Your Hunger, And You Seek Him For Peace.

He Alone Is Great Who Turns The Voice Of The Wind Into A Song Made Sweeter By His Own Loving.

You Shall Not Dwell In Tombs Made By The Dead For The Living.