"There is no God," the foolish saith, But none, "There is no sorrow." And nature oft the cry of faith In bitter need will borrow: Eyes which the preacher could not school, By wayside graves are raised; And lips say, "God be pitiful," Who ne'er said, "God be praised."

Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.

A grave, on which to rest from singing?

Earth's crammed with Heaven.

The Greeks said grandly in their tragic phrase, 'Let no one be called happy till his death;' to which I would add, 'Let no one, till his death, be called unhappy.'

And if God choose I shall but love thee better after death.

How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.