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See how time makes all grief decay.

Adelaide Anne Procter

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We always may be what we might have been.
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No star is lost once we have seen
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With heaven’s light upon their wings:Every word has its own spirit
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Some pure ideal of a noble life That once seemed possible?
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The men are much alarmed by certain speculations about women; and well they may be
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Words are mighty, words are living:Serpents with their venomous stings,Or bright angels, crowding round us
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Did we not hear The flutter of its wings, and feel it near, And just within our reach? It was.
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Dreams grow holy put in action; work grows fair through starry dreaming,
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Do not look at life’s long sorrow; see how small each moment’s pain.
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See how time makes all grief decay.
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Lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done.
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Hours are golden links, God’s token Reaching heaven; but one by one Take them
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I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be a pleasant road.
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Adelaide Ask Life Lord May Plesant Road
And yet We lost it in this daily jar and fret, And now live idle in a vague regret
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I know too well the poison and the sting of things too sweet.
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Dreams grow holy put in action.
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