I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day: the
night cometh, when no read more

I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day: the
night cometh, when no man can work.

There's no night without stars.

There's no night without stars.

At night, to his own dark fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
read more

At night, to his own dark fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
Tormenting himself with his prickles.

For, he that expects nothing shall not be disappointed, but he that expects much - if he lives and uses read more

For, he that expects nothing shall not be disappointed, but he that expects much - if he lives and uses that in hand day by day - shall be full to running over.

From fibers of pain and hope and trouble
And toil and happiness,--one by one,--
Twisted together, or read more

From fibers of pain and hope and trouble
And toil and happiness,--one by one,--
Twisted together, or single or double,
The varying thread of our life is spun.
Hope shall cheer though the chain be galling;
Light shall come though the gloom be falling;
Faith will list for the Master calling
Our hearts to his rest,--when the day is done.

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies:
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's read more

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies:
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers as in content,
There falls on the old, gray city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.

I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want read more

I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see.

Think that day lost whose (low) descending sun
Views from thy hand no noble action done.
[Lat., read more

Think that day lost whose (low) descending sun
Views from thy hand no noble action done.
[Lat., Virtus sui gloria.]

Daughter of Time, the hypocrite Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an read more

Daughter of Time, the hypocrite Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands;
To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdom, stars, and sky that holds them all;
I, in my pleached garden watched the pomp
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day
Turned and departed silent. I too late
Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.