Who longest waits most surely wins.

But all lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love; No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love; The years of Heaven with all earth's little pain Make Good Together there we can begin again, In babyhood.

Who waits until the wind shall silent keep Will never find the ready hour to sow.

There is nothing so skillful in its own defense as imperious pride.

When Time is spent, Eternity begins.

For April sobs while these are so glad April weeps while these are so gay,- Weeps like a tired child who had, Playing with flowers, lost its way.

That indescribable expression peculiar to people who hope they have not been asleep, but know they have.