For of all hard things to bear and grin, / The hardest is knowing you're taken in.

O men, grown sick with toil and care, Leave for awhile the crowded mart; O women, sinking with despair, Weary of limb and faint of heart, Forget your years to-day and come As children back to childhood's house.

One sweetly solemn thought, comes to me o'er and o'er; I am nearer home today, than I ever have been before.

Death comes not to the living soul, nor age to the living heart.

Only yield when you must, never "give up the ship," but fight on to the last "with a stiff upper lip!

For of all hard things to bear and grin, / The hardest is knowing you're taken in.

Come up, April, though the valley, / In your robes of beauty drest, / Come and wake your flowery children / From their wintry beds of rest.