Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse.

Nothing with God can be accidental.

See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks!

The men that women marry, And why they marry them, will always be A marvel and a mystery to the world.

Let us labor for an inward stillness-- An inward stillness and an inward healing. That perfect silence where the lips and heart Are still, and we no longer entertain Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions, But God alone speaks to us and we wait In singleness of heart that we may know His will, and in the silence of our spirits, That we may do His will and do that only

In ourselves are triumph and defeat.

Nature is a revelation of God; Art a revelation of man.