Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.

We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame; however you take it we men are a little breed.

Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades Forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life!

What the sunshine is to the flower, the Lord Jesus Christ is to my soul.

I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit otherwhere.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold

No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.