Just a little every day That's the way Children learn to read and write Bit by bit and mite by mite.
Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it.
Talk happiness. The world is sad enough without your woe. No path is wholly rough.
Distrust that man who tells you to distrust.
God sent us here to make mistakes
And so for me there is no sting of death, And so the grave has lost its victory. It is but crossing-with abated breath And white, set face-a little strip of sea To find the loved ones waiting on the shore, More beautiful, more precious than before.