'Tis the set of the sail that decides the goal, and not the storm of life.

No path is wholly rough.

Talk faith. The world is better off without, Your uttered ignorance and morbid doubt.

There was hell in her eyes! She was worn and jaded Her soul is at war with the life she has led. As I looked on that face so strangely faded I wonder God did not strike me dead.

Love gives us copious potions of delight, Of pain and ecstasy, and peace and care; Love leads us upward, to the mountain height, And, like an angel, stands beside us there; Then thrusts us, demon-like, in some abyss: Where, in the darkness of despair, we grope, Till, suddenly, Love greets us with a kiss And guides us back to flowery fields of hope.

Talk happiness. The world is sad enough without your woe. No path is wholly rough.

Whatever your work and whatever its worth, No matter how strong or clever, Some one will sneer if you pause to hear, And scoff at your best endeavor. For the target art has a broad expanse, And wherever you chance to hit it, Though close be your aim to the bull's-eye fame, There are those who will never admit it.