I saw my father as a man, and not, as a man who was my father.

How green was my valley then, and the valley of them that have gone.

But you have gone now, all of you that were so beautiful when you were quick with life. Yet not gone, for you are still a living truth inside my mind. So how are you dead, my brothers and sisters, and all of you , when you live with me as surely as I live with myself.

Let the Unions become engines for the working people to right their wrongs. Not benefit societies, or burial clubs. Let the Unions become civilian regiments to fight in the cause of the people.

Everywhere was singing, all over the house was singing, and outside the house was alive with singing, and the very air was song.

O, there is lovely to feel a book, a good book, firm in the hand, for its fatness holds rich promise, and you are hot inside to think of good hours to come.

O, Voice of Man, organ of most lovely might.