Do we call the star lost that is hidden / In the great light of morn?

Do we call the star lost that is hidden / In the great light of morn?

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.

And though hard be the task, keep a stiff upper lip.

Give plenty of what is given to you, And listen to pity's call. Don't think the little you give is great, And the much you get is small.

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.

Sometimes, I think the things we see are shadows of the things to be; that what we plan we build