must have imagined this, or perhaps I saw it in a dream. Somewhere, out on a desert, within a cloud, or perhaps beneath it, a fierce battle raged. Sword clashed upon sword, and shield upon shield. In the midst of battle, a prince's banner wavered, and then fell. On the edge of battle a craven crept, and he thought: "Had only I, that fine blue steel of the King's son." But he looked down at his rusty sword, and his battered shield, and his disintegrating leather, and in disgust, he threw down the shield, and thrust the sword into the sand, and slovenly crept away. Came the King's son, weary, and sore of arm, and wounded, and without weapon, and he saw the sword buried in the sand. And moving forward, he grasped the sword by its rusty hilt, and wrenched it from its sandy sheath. And wiping the blood from his weary eyes, he took up the battered shield. And with battle cry anew, charged forward, and hew down the enemy, and saved the battle on that glorious day.

- Edward Sils

That you do your very best,

With the tools you have been given ...

Neither God nor man could ask you more!

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