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.

True worth is in being, not seeming- In doing, each day that goes by, Some little good, not in the dreaming Of great things to do by and by. For whatever men say in their blindness, And spite of the fancies of youth, There's nothing so kingly as kindness, And nothing so royal as truth.

For he who is honest is noble, Whatever his fortunes or birth.

We cannot make bargains for blisses, / Nor catch them like fishes in nets; / And sometimes the thing our life misses, / Helps more than the thing which it gets.

Coldly and capriciously the slanting sunbeams fall.

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.