Books were put out, and 'had a run,' / Like coinage from the mint; / But which could fill the place of one, / That one they wouldn't print?

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!

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

And never since harvests were ripened, / Or laborers born, / Have men gathered figs of the thistle, / Or grapes of the thorn!

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

All the great blessings of my life are present in my thoughts today