Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.

And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.

How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.

There's no dew left on the daisies and clover; there's no rain left in heaven.

And bitter waxed the fray; Brother with brother spake no word When they met in the way.

I am glad to think I am not bound to make the world go right, but only to discover and to do, with cheerful heart, the work that God appoints.

we wish for more in life rather than more of it.