The shadow by my finger cast Divides the future from the past: Before it, sleeps the unborn hour, In darkness, and beyond thy power. Behind its unreturning line, The vanished hour, no longer thine: One hour alone is in thy hands,- The NOW on which the shadow stands.

Thou wayfaring Jesus - a pilgrim and stranger, Exiled from heaven by love at Thy birth: Exiled again from Thy rest in the manger, A fugitive child 'mid the perils of earth - Cheer with Thy fellowship all who are weary, Wandering far from the land that they love: Guide every heart that is homeless and dreary, Safe to its home in Thy presence above.

Not to the swift, the race: Not to the strong, the fight: Not to the righteous, perfect grace: Not to the wise, the light. But often faltering feet Come surest to the goal; And they who walk in darkness meet The sunrise of the soul.

So let the way wind up the hill or down, O’er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy; Still seeking what I sought when but a boy, New friendship, high adventure, and a crown. My heart will keep the courage of the quest, And hope the road’s last turn will be the best.

Love is not getting, but giving. Not a wild dream of pleasure and madness of desire - oh, no - love is not that! It is goodness and honor and peace and pure living - yes, love is that and it is the best thing in the world and the thing that lives the longest.

We measure success by accumulation. The measure is false. The true measure is appreciation. He who loves most has most.

Even if we should find another Eden, we would not be fit to enjoy it perfectly nor stay in it forever.