In God’s good time, Which does not always fall on Saturday When the world looks for wages.
Truth never hurt the teller.
When is man strong until he feels alone? Colombe’s Birthday.
The best way to excape his ire Is, not to seem too happy.
The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.
Day! Faster and more fast. O’er night’s brim, day boils at last.
The body sprang At once to the height, and stayed; but the soul,-no!
And I have written three books on the soul, Proving absurd all written hitherto, And putting us to ignorance again.
And inasmuch as feeling, the East’s gift, Is quick and transient,- comes, and lo! is gone, While Northern thought is slow and durable.
You call for faith: I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists. The more of doubt, the stronger faith, I say, If faith o’ercomes doubt.
The only fault’s with time; All men become good creatures: but so slow!
Other heights in other lives, God willing.
We find great things are made of little things, And little things go lessening till at last Comes God behind them.
Earth is crammed with heavens.
Truth is truth howe’er it strike.
No thought which ever stirred A human breast should be untold.
Wander at will, Day after day, – Wander away, Wandering still – Soul that canst soar! Body may slumber: Body shall cumber Soul-flight no more.
Sorrow, the heart must bear, Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there. Many a circumstance, at least, Touches the very breast. For those Whom any sent away, – he knows: And in the live man’s stead, Armor and ashes reach The house of each.
Hand Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friendship, And great hearts expand And grow one in the sense of this world’s life.
Who knows most, doubts most; entertaining hope means recognizing fear.