The pure soul shall mount on native wings, . . . and cut a path into the heaven of glory.

How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child, when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring?

To some people a tree is something so incredibly beautiful that it brings tears to the eyes. To others it is just a green thing that stands in the way.

And I made a rural pen, And I stained the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every Child may joy to hear.

We are led to believe a lie When we see not through the eye.

Praises reap not! Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not!

Each man is haunted until his humanity awakens.