Women and men in the crowd meet and mingle, Yet with itself every soul standeth single.

Nothing in this low and ruined world bears the meek impress of the Son of God so surely as forgiveness.

I sit where the leaves of the maple and the gnarled and knotted gum are circling and drifting around me.

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?

He who loves best his fellow-man, is loving God the holiest way he can.

Not what we think, but what we do, / Makes saints of us: all stiff and cold, / The outlines of the corpse show through / The cloth of gold.

Yea, when mortality dissolves, Shall I not meet thine hour unawed? My house eternal in the heavens Is lighted by the smile of God!