for spiritual refreshment. It would be well for each of us if we should
follow this advice. It is not too late yet and if some few would heed
his words and mine, these pages would not be written in vain.

I heard once of a man banished from New England to the Llano Estacado,
the great summer-bitten plains of Texas. While riding alone among his
cows over miles of yucca and sage he kept in touch with the world
through the poetry he recited to himself. His favorite, I remember, was
Whittier's "Randolph of Roanoke:"

"Here where with living ear and eye
He heard Potomac flowing,
And through his tall ancestral trees
Saw Autumn's sunset glowing;

"Too honest or too proud to feign
A love he never cherished,
Beyond Virginia's border line
His patriotism perished.

"But none beheld with clearer eye
The plague spot o'er her spreading,
Nor heard more sure the steps of doom
Along her future treading."

This is good verse and it may well serve to relate the gray world of
Northern Texas to the many-colored world in which men struggle and die
for things worthwhile, winning their lives eternally through losing
them.