Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.

I will write the evangel-poem of comrades and of love.

Joy, shipmate, joy! (Pleased to my soul at death I cry), Our life is closed, our life begins, The long, long anchorage we leave, The ship is clear at last, she leaps! She swiftly courses from the shore, Joy, shipmate, joy!

We were together. I forget the rest.

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death. And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it.

I see great things in baseball. It's our game - the American game. It will take our people out-of-doors, fill them with oxygen, give them a larger physical stoicism. Tend to relieve us from being a nervous, dyspeptic set. Repair these losses, and be a blessing to us.

I give you my hand, I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law; Will you give me yourself?