How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.
My patience has dreadful chilblains from standing so long on a monument.
Let us be content to work To do the things we can, and not presume To fret because it's little.
I work with patience, which is almost power.
The essence of all beauty, I call love.
Think, in mounting higher, the angels would press on us, and aspire to drop some golden orb of perfect song into our deep, dear silence.