True love is not selfish. In time it accustoms itself to anything which secures happiness for its object.

Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose From out night's gray and cloudy sheath; Softly and still it grows and grows, Petal by petal, leaf by leaf.

True love is not selfish. In time it accustoms itself to anything which secures happiness for its object.

Earth's saddest day and gladdest day were just three days apart!

Softly drops the crimson sun: Softly down from overhead, Drop the bell-notes, one by one, Melting in the melting red.

To-morrow I will begin, thought Katy, as she dropped asleep that night. How often we all do so! And what a pity it is that when morning comes and to-morrow is to-day, we so frequently wake up feeling quite differently; careless or impatient, and not a bit inclined to do the fine things we planned overnight.

Every day is a fresh beginning. Every morn is the world made anew.