But whenever she thanks the givers for favors great and small, she thinks of the good little sister who gave her more than they all.

Laugh out, O stream, from your bed of green, / Where you lie in the sun's embrace; / And talk to the reeds that o'er you lean / To touch your dimpled face.

I know not which I love the most, Nor which the comeliest shows, The timid, bashful violet Or the royal-hearted rose: The pansy in purple dress, The pink with cheek of red, Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs, Like a bashful maid her head.

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!

O that one unguarded moment! / Were it mine to live again, / All the strength of its temptation / Would appeal to me in vain.

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