Who soweth good seed shall surely reap; The year grows rich as it groweth old, And life's latest sands are its sands of gold!

No mother who stands upon low ground herself can hope to place her children upon a loftier plane. They may reach it, but it will not be through her.

April's rare capricious loveliness.

Buttercups, bright eyed and bold, hold their chalices of gold to catch the sunshine and the dew.

Who soweth good seed shall surely reap; The year grows rich as it groweth old, And life's latest sands are its sands of gold!

Stars will blossom in the darkness, Violets bloom beneath the snow.