Just a little every day That's the way Children learn to read and write Bit by bit and mite by mite.

There is no language that love does not speak.

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.

The sin and the shame and the sorrow, The crime and the want and the woe That are born there in your workshop, No hand can paint, you know.

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

Wiped the cold dew-drops from his cheek And sought the mourner's side again. "Once more, dear lady, I must speak: Your last remaining son was slain Just at the closing of the fight; Twas he who sent me here to-night." "God knows," the man said afterward, "The fight itself was not so hard."

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