Subtly, so subtly, the workings of Time
Must alter the shape of the outer shell
Of a body once vibrant and molded so well!

Slowly, but surely, like a wood-boring worm,
Out of the gloom of a perilous clime,
Firm in the grasp of a seasonable term,

Comes the chill-laden wintry spell
Of sad infirmity in a dismal sphere;
Lost in the woods of a cherished dream,

In the thickening fog of Nature's scheme,
Midst muffled sounds of distant strains
Are earlier years that knew no fear

Of time and age, what now remains
Eternity must rightly redeem.

Have you heard this little story
Of a rabbi and a Christian priest,
Differing in their separate ways,
But are friends, to say the least.

One day, the rabbi asked the priest
In total confidence:
"Could you put up with any man
"That airs his impudence

"When he confesses that he needs
"No sermon nor advice
"From those like you whom he believes
"To be not worldly-wise?"

The priest thought for a moment,
Then answered with some ease,
"A man who frankly speaks his mind
"Is finally at peace

"Not only with himself but God,
"Confession being the bridge
"Across which he could reach the top
"Of his salvation's ridge."

The rabbi shook his head and said:
"There is no way, of course,
"Confession without penitence
"Could be the bridge to cross."

"But," said the priest, "consider this,
"By God's eternal grace,
"We choose two different routes but get
"Together in one place."

Initiative is as necessary
As a bird that must rely
Upon its natural wings for it
To take off and to fly
A ship equipped with power
To withstand the frightening gale
Would bear no earthly purpose if
It ventures not to sail.
Forests would, indeed, decay
If these do not retain
Moisture from clouds that bring
Growth-sustaining rain.
A poet would be sore-beguiled
If he should sadly lose
Interest in the spirit of
His own creative Muse.
So is ones talent for success
By which one tries to live,
And could be only realized
Through sheer initiative.

It doesn't matter how so plain
Or rough the crust may be,
The kernel is what truly counts --
The part we cannot see.

A piece of land perceived as good
And ripe for human toil
May yet prove unproductive
Without the proper soil.

Can we appraise the saber
While still within its sheath,
Or comprehend the ocean
Unless we look beneath?

Sights we often fail to see
And thoughtlessly pass by
May be those that satisfy
The palate, not the eye.