Ah! What would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before.

There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.

Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise.

Let him not boast who puts his armor on as he who puts it off, the battle done.

A boy's will is the wind's will.

Love is a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more than animate faith and love, as flowers are the animate springtide.

Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.