ENTRANCE

Take heed, wayfarer, searching the rubble of old nightFor a star. Songs are not born in the laden heartdespairing of light,Nor rise to the lips that have not asked.

Though narrow is the way, the darkest nightShall be light around your path;Though strait the gate, it ever waits your handupon the latch.

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Editorial
PEACE OF MIND
January 24, 1948
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