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  • Cemetary And their son Thomas, aged four years, April nineteen twenty one. Never the plough, the pick, the gun; Only light laughter, soon forgotten tears. Man's life is grass, ephemeral his house Westers the sun. To be or not to be? Never the grasp for gold, never the gun. Only hands groping for the roots of flowers. Suffer the little children to come unto me. -Edith Lovejoy Pierce Prayer for Loyalty to the Highest * * * Lord of truth + poetry... more
    Cemetary And their son Thomas, aged four years, April nineteen twenty one. Never the plough, the pick, the gun; Only light laughter, soon forgotten tears. Man's life is grass, ephemeral his house Westers the sun. To be or not to be? Never the grasp for gold, never the gun. Only hands groping for the roots of flowers. Suffer the little children to come unto me. -Edith Lovejoy Pierce Prayer for Loyalty to the Highest * * * Lord of truth + poetry, We beseech thee to build up in us thine own nature. Found our soul upon the rock, That we may be content with no tarnsient happiness Bought at the cost of compromise and unfaithfulness. Teach us the bitterness of forsaking noble ideals; Teach us the glory and the warmth of the loneliness and pain that comes from fearless following of the highest that we know. Give us thine own vision of eternal values, Thine own resolute disregard of the second best, Thine own unflenching loyalty to duty and honor. J.S. Hoyland. less