To
the guests that
must go bid God's speed and brush away all traces of their steps.
Take
to your bosom with a smile what is easy and simple and near.
To-day
is the festival of phantoms that know not when they die.
Let
your laughter be but a meaningless mirth like twinkles of light on the
ripples.
Let
your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a
leaf.
Strike
in chords from your harp fitful momentary rhythms.