The violets whisper from the shade Which their own leaves have made: Men scent our fragrance on the air, Yet take no heed Of humble lessons we would read.

I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?

Let bygones be bygones.

O Lord, who art our guide even unto death, grant us, I pray Thee, grace to follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest. In little daily duties to which Thou callest us, bow down our wills to simple obedience.

Were there no God, we would be in this glorious world with grateful hearts, and no one to thank.

I might show facts as plain as day: but, since your eyes are blind, you'd say, 'Where? What?' and turn away.

Consider The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- We are as they; Like them we fade away As doth a leaf.