So sweet love seemed that April morn. When first we kissed beside the thorn, So strangely sweet, it was not strange We thought that love could never change.

When first we met we did not guess That Love would prove so hard a master.

Were I a cloud I'd gather My skirts up in the air, And fly well know whither, And rest I well know where.

My delight and thy delight Walking, like two angels white, In the gardens of the night.

A God of fire is the only one there is. Our God is not like an iceberg but like a forest fire. He is never compared to the moon with its cool glow but rather to the sun, radiating warmth. He dwells in the light of the rising sun. Whatever he does shines brightly and is carried out with burning desire and a blazing purpose.

The agricultural working people should be imbued with a thoroughgoing faith in socialism and steadfast anti-imperialist and class consciousness so that they can regard our style of socialism as their life and soul, love it ardently, and fight staunchly against the imperialists' moves for ideological and cultural infiltration.

Prayer: the key of the day and the lock of the night.

Live, so you do not have to look back and say: 'God, how I have wasted my life.'