“More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.”

Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.

Speak to Him, thou, for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet- Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.

My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.

The words ‘far, far away’ had always a strange charm.

I sometimes find it half a sin, to put to words the grief I feel, For words like nature, half reveal, and half conceal the soul within.

Faith is believing what we cannot prove.

Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?

I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.

Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.

Trust me not at all, or all in all.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.

The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.

I can’t sleep without knowing there’s hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips… the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.

I am a part of all that I have met.

Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.

Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.