Oh, I have walked in Kansas Through many a harvest field, And piled the sheaves of glory there And down the wild rows reeled: Each sheaf a little yellow sun, A heap of hot-rayed gold; Each binder like Creation's hand To mold suns, as of old.

The only thing that a man may do that is new, is to write himself on human hearts.

To live in mankind is far more than to live in a name.

Life is a loom, weaving illusion.

The crooning turns to a sunrise singing.

My life is unjust, but I can strive for justice. My life is unkind, but I can vote for kindness.

Factory windows are always brokenOther windows are let alone.No one throws through the chapel-windowThe bitter, snarling, derisive stone.