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by Myra Viola Wilds

1        What kind of thoughts now, do you carry

2        In your travels day by day

3        Are they bright and lofty visions,

4        Or neglected, gone astray?

5        Matters not how great in fancy,

6        Or what deeds of skill you’ve wrought;

7        Man, though high may be his station,

8        Is no better than his thoughts.

9        Catch your thoughts and hold them tightly,

10      Let each one an honor be;

11      Purge them, scourge them, burnish brightly,

12      Then in love set each one free.

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