Better than glory, or honors, or fame, (Though I am striving for those to-day) To know that some heart will cherish my name, And think of me kindly, with blessings, alway.

And let its meaning permeate each day. Whatever comes, This too shall pass away.

Let there be many windows to your soul, that all the glory of the world may beautify it.

The spark divine dwells in thee: let it grow.

One bitter time of mourning, I remember, When day, and night, my sad heart did complain, My life, I said, was one cold, bleak December, And all its pleasures, were but whited pain.

Moon and Sea You are the moon, dear love, and I the sea: The tide of hope swells high within my breast, And hides the rough dark rocks of life's unrest When your fond eyes smile near in perigee. But when that loving face is turned from me, Low falls the tide, and the grim rocks appear, And earth's dim coast-line seems a thing to fear. You are the moon, dear one, and I the sea.

There is room in the halls of pleasure for a large and lordly train, but one by one we must all file on through the narrow aisles of pain.