There's no dew left on the daisies and clover; there's no rain left in heaven.
When sparrows build and the leaves break forth My old sorrow wakes and cries.
It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.
Yet there are some resting-places, / Life's untroubled interludes; / Times when neither past nor future / On the soul's deep calm intrudes.
And bitter waxed the fray; Brother with brother spake no word When they met in the way.
A healthful hunger for a great idea is the beauty and blessedness of life.