Always continue to climb.

Let us clear a little space, And make Love a burial-place. He is dead, dear, as you see, And he wearies you and me.

The splendid discontent of God With chaos made the world. And from the discontent of man The worlds best progress springs.

A weed is but an unloved flower.

Even so We find the sea of sorrow. Black as night The sullen surface meets our frightened gaze, As down we sink to darkness and despair.

God made poor woman with no heart, But gave her skill, and tact, and art, And so she lives, and plays her part. We must not blame, but pity her.

You never can tell when you send a word, Like an arrow shot from a bow By an archer blind, be it cruel or kind, Just where it may chance to go!