I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, "That must have been the sun!

Experiment has a stimulus which withers its fear.

Sunrise: day's great progenitor.

I do not feel I could give up all for Christ, were I called to die.

... I have no letter from the dead, yet daily love them more.

Pain has an element of blank

Hope is a thing with feathers