“I hear the little children of the wind
Crying solitary in lonely places.”

“Lying in my tent
I can hear your cry
Echoing round the mountainside
You sound lonely”

“As if the man had fixed his face,
In many a solitary place,
Against the wind and open sky!”

“And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.”

“The cold mountain turns dark green.
The autumn stream flows murmuring on.
Leaning on my staff beneath the wicket gate,
In the rushing wind I hear the cry of the aged cicada.”

“Another day goes by
Still the children cry
Put a little love in your heart.”

“While a few pertinent points have to be marked, the general impression I desire to convey is of a side door crashing open in life's full flight, and a rush of roaring black time drowning with its whipping wind the cry of lone disaster.”

“I suppose that, if we were in the congregations of some of our Christian fellow-countrymen, we would not hear any children crying. I believe they have none in some societies. I am very happy to hear the children crying when it is really necessary and they cannot be kept from it. One thing is certain, wherever we go there is a proof that the people are keeping the commandments of the Lord, especially the first one—to multiply and replenish the earth.”

“Sometimes, if you stand very still in the shadows of those places, you can hear songs on the wind, whispers in the trees. That is why I travel.”

“I hear my silence talked of in every lane;
The suppression of a cry is itself a cry of pain.”