What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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Is This My Destiny
Cursed with sorrow pain and woe full of feeling I can't show
Hopeless love what else for me is this my destiny
At night I toss and wonder why I must live while others die
The grave would be escape for me from this my destiny
I know God surely made for every man somewhere a maid
Someone stole my love from me is this my destiny
At night I toss and wonder why