By Irving N. Brant

Let me once more in Druid forest wander,

To gain its legacy of ancient lore;

Make me its prophet, as I dreamed of yore,

A priest, on holy mysteries to ponder.

Lead me to realms of quiet, or the fonder

Scenes of the rising sea's unruly roar.

Or turn my gaze upon the vistaed floor

Of quiet valleys, and the blue haze yonder

On the opposing hills. Let me traverse

The shadows of man's immemorial mind,

The haunt of fear, joy, sorrow and despair,

God-given wonder and the primal curse.

Within the throbbing heart of humankind

Give me my work, or let me perish there.