I Am More Afraid Of

Time Has Laid His Hand Upon My Heart, Gently, Not Smiting It, But As A Harper Lays His Open Palm Upon His Harp, To Deaden Its Vibrations.

Look Not Mournfully Into The Past. It Comes Not Back Again.

Let Him Not Boast Who Puts His Armor On As He Who Puts It Off, The Battle Done.

That Tree Is Very Old, But I Never Saw Prettier Blossoms On It Than It Now Bears. That Tree Grows New Wood Each Year. Like That Apple Tree, I Try To Grow A New Little Wood Each Year.

Prayer Is Innocence's Friend; And Willingly Flieth Incessant 'twist The Earth And The Sky, The Carrier-pigeon Of Heaven.