The children with the streamlets sing, When April stops at last her weeping; And every happy growing thing Laughs like a babe just roused from sleeping.

If an apple blossom or a ripe apple could tell its own story, it would be, still more than its own, the story of the sunshine that smiled upon it, of the winds that whispered to it, of the birds that sang around it, of the storms that visited it, and of the motherly tree that held it and fed it until its petals were unfolded and its form developed.

It is the greatest of all mistakes to begin life with the expectation that it is going to be easy, or with the wish to have it so.

Whatever with the past has gone, The best is always yet to come.

Whatever science and philosophy may do for mankind, the world can never outgrow its need of the simplicity that is in Christ.

A drop of water, if it could write out its own history, would explain the universe to us.

If the world seems cold to you, kindle fires to warm it.