Will Without Power Is Like Children Playing

A Single Conversation Across The Table With A Wise Man Is Better Than Ten Years Mere Study Of Books.

For 'tis Sweet To Stammer One Letter Of The Eternal's Language; - On Earth It Is Called Forgiveness!

The Hooded Clouds, Like Friars, Tell Their Beads In Drops Of Rain.

Ah, Nothing Is Too Late, Till The Tired Heart Shall Cease To Palpitate.

Let Us Then Be Up And Doing, With A Heart For Any Fate, Still Achieving, Still Pursuing, Learn To Labor And To Wait.