They trust in their forgiving God, who promises them the wisdom in time to take what they need from the weaker ones, leaving their own accumulation of filth undivided. But let us hope that, for the sake of the majesty of moral justice in the world, God will never suffer the pain of being cheated by his fairness, and that the loyalty of a few manipulative diplomats will carefully avoid all their losses, and that a terrible confession may have to go to its final end, leaving no residual poison on a treacherously healed scar. 111a Through the troubled history of mankind rolls a fury of destruction and ignorance, and the towers of civilization collapse into the dust. In the chaos of moral anarchy, the best treasures of mankind, which the martyrs of the past have heroically won, are trampled underfoot by the plunderers. Come, young nation, proclaim the war in defense of freedom and raise the flag of invincible faith. Build a bridge with your life, cross the earth that has been exploded by hatred, and move forward. Do not give in to yourself and kick down the burden of insult with terror, nor dig holes with hypocrisy and deceit for your dishonorable character. This poem is dedicated to Canada and was broadcast on radio in Ottawa on May 29, 1939. Build a shelter; Do not sacrifice that weak to the strong to save yourself. The man who beat him once in the name of their ruler was born again in this century. They assembled in their prayer halls in their garb of reverence, and they called upon their soldiers, "Kill, kill," and they shouted; and their roar was mingled with the music of their hymns, while the Son of Man prayed in his torment, "O God, cast away, cast far away this cup of the bitterest poison." Thou hast lent my eyes a great piece of thy infinite store of light; now at the end of the day thou hast come to take it back,High Density Storage Drive In Rack, my master, I must know that I must make good use of my debt. But why cast a shadow before my nightlight? I am only a guest in the world for a short time in your bright light. If there are some fragments left in this full light, let them be inadvertently left in the last ruts of your chariot. Let me pick up from the dust the scattered lights and shadows, some glimmers of colored illusions to build up my own tiny world, a remnant of your debt, not worth collecting well. In this great universe the wheel of pain spins; the stars crack; sparks of light and dust fly far and wide, scattering swiftly, enveloping in primeval nets the troubles of existence. In the armoury of pain, on the red shelf of consciousness, the instruments of torture were clanging. The bleeding wound was gaping. Man's body is small, and his strength to endure all kinds of hardships is so great. In the confluence of creation and chaos, why does he raise his flaming cup at the terrible feast of the gods who are intoxicated with their divine power-oh, why does he sweep up the tide of red tears to fill his earthy body? From his unconquerable will, he brings endless value to every moment. The sacrifice of man, radio shuttle racking ,heavy duty cantilever racks, the burning anguish of his flesh-what can be compared with the whole fiery devotion of the sun and stars? Such brave and unyielding wealth, such fearless persistence, such death-defying,-such a triumphant March, thousands of thousands, stepping on the charcoal fire to the extreme of sadness-on which road there are such pursuing, nameless, glorious pilgrims walking together? Such pure waters of worship, washed through the rocks of fire, such boundless treasures of love? Late in the night, in the illusory light of your sickbed, you appear awake, as to me as if countless stars and suns were guaranteeing my tiny life: until I know that you are leaving me, terror stretches to the heavens, the terrible indifferent terror of "all things". This poem, together with 116 and 118, describes the people who guard the poet's bedside day and night when he is in danger. She is the faerie of an autumn night, clothed in the glimmer of a sinking sunset, bearing the promise of the stars' endless peace, guiding by her silent service the weary footsteps of the long lingering hours of a reluctant night into the neighbourhood of the morning star.
Her long hair was blown by the gentle breeze of dawn, with the fragrance of morning prayer smoke, and her sad and sweet face at the end of the day was illuminated by the blessing of the morning light. When I awoke from my sleep and found a basket of oranges at my feet, I was wondering who could be the giver of this gift; my guess flew from one name to another, but beautiful names, as numerous as spring flowers, all different names combined to make it a perfect gift. In the endless roads of the world, in the innumerable activities, her character is scattered among all that she has not possessed and is incomplete. Around the sickbed was a dear object, who, like a new vision, presented her perfect being, in whom the goodness of all things was concentrated, in her touch, in her sleepless and anxious eyes. On my way to healing, when I received nature's earliest greetings of friendship, she held up before my eyes the first precious gift of boundless wonder. The trees and the blue sky bathed in the morning light, though ancient and familiar, present to me the eternal creation in them. In the first time, I feel that my life is interwoven with the birth of many changing forms, just as the sunshine is each form composed of different rays, intermingled with countless invisible forms in its unity. I have won the blessing of "beauty" in this life. I have tasted his own sacrament in the bottle of man's love. Grief, too heavy to bear, shows me the unhurtable,heavy duty metal racking, the unconquerable soul. On the day when I feel the shadow of death coming, I have no terrible defeat. The great men of the earth have not deprived me of their contact, and their immortal words have accumulated in my heart. I have received the gift of the God of life: let me keep this memory in the language of thanks. kingmoreracking.com