There is no language that love does not speak.

With every deed you are sowing a seed, though the harvest you may not see.

Whatever is a cruel wrong, Whatever is unjust, The honest years that speed along Will trample in the dust.

High in the heavens I saw the moon this morning, Albeit the sun shone bright; Unto my soul it spoke, in voice of warning, "Remember Night!"

There are ghosts in the room. As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there They come out of the gloom, And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair.

That each sorrow has its purpose, By the sorrowing oft unguessed, But as sure as the sun brings morning, Whatever is-is best.

Give her not greatness. For great souls must stand Alone and lonely in this little world: Cleft rocks that show the great Creator's hand, Thither by earthquakes hurled.