The Curse Of Covetousness Is That It

Like A Plant That Starts Up In Showers And Sunshine And Does Not Know Which Has Best Helped It To Grow, It Is Difficult To Say Whether The Hard Things Or The Pleasant Things Did Me The Most Good.

Some Of Us Must Wait For The Best Human Gifts Until We Come To Heavenly Places. Our Natural Desire For Musical Utterance Is Perhaps A Prophecy That In A Perfect World We Shall All Know How To Sing.

To Different Minds, Poetry May Present Different Phases. To Me, The Reverent Faith Of The People I Lived Among, And Their Faithful Everyday Living, Was Poetry; Blossoms And Trees And Blue Shies Were Poetry. God Himself Was Poetry.

The Soul, Cramped Among The Petty Vexations Of Earth, Needs To Keep Its Windows Constantly Open To The Invigorating Air Of Large And Free Ideas: And What Thought Is So Grand As That Of An Ever-present God, In Whom All That Is Vital In Humanity Breathes And Grows?

Sometimes It Seems To Me That God 's Way Of Dealing With Me Is Not To Let Me See Much Of My Friends, Those Who Are Most To Me In The Spiritual Life, Lest I Should Forget That The Invisible Bond Is The Only Reality. That Is The Only Way I Can Reconcile Myself To The Inevitable Separations Of Life And Death.