Sing, riding 's a joy! For me I ride.

Generations pass while some tree stands, and old families last not three oaks.

We find great things are made of little things, And little things go lessening till at last Comes God behind them.

grow old with me. the best is yet to be. the last of life for which the first was made.

Paracelsus At times I almost dream I too have spent a life the sages’ way, And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance I perished in an arrogant self-reliance Ages ago; and in that act a prayer For one more chance went up so earnest, so Instinct with better light let in by death, That life was blotted out — not so completely But scattered wrecks enough of it remain, Dim memories, as now, when once more seems The goal in sight again.

A lion may die of an ass's kick.

Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before Love, - Only sleep.