We love in others what we lack ourselves, And would be every thing but what we are. - Richard Henry Stoddard

Heaven is not gone, but we are blind with tears,
Groping our way along the downward slope of Years!

Not what we would, but what we must, Makes up the sum of living;
Heaven is both more and less than just In taking and in giving.

There is no death—the thing that we call death
Is but another, sadder name for life,
Which is itself an insufficient name,
Faint recognition of that unknown Life—
That Power whose shadow is the Universe.