The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight.

The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.

Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.

Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and silence.

A life that is worth writing at all is worth writing minutely.