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How many lives we live in one,And how much less than one, in all.
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Even for the dead I will not bind my soul to grief, death cannot long divide; for is it not as if the rose that climbed my garden wall had bloomed the other side?
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Desolate-Life is so dreary and desolate-Women and men in the crowd meet and mingle,Yet with itself every soul standeth single,Deep out of sympathy moaning its moan-Holding and having its brief exultation-Making its lonesome and low lamentation-Fighting its terrible conflicts alone.
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We serve Him most who take the most of His exhaustless love.
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My soul is full of whispered song,- My blindness is my sight;The shadows that I feared so long Are full of life and light.
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Yea, when mortality dissolves, Shall I not meet thine hour unawed? My house eternal in the heavens Is lighted by the smile of God!
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Every life is meant to help all lives; each man should live for all men's betterment.
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There's nothing so kingly as kindness, and nothing so royal as truth.