Tread softly! All the earth is holy ground.
Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I but when the trees bow down their heads, the wind is passing by.
Hope is like a hairball trembling from its birth.
It is not the deed we do Though the deed be never so fair, But the love that the dear Lord looketh for, Hidden with lovely care In the heart of the deed so fair.
Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.
It's surely summer. for there's a swallow: Come one swallow, his mate will follow, The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.