Our own faces, seen suddenly, will sometimes tell us things concerning ourselves that we did not suspect before. - Jean Ingelow

The while He sits whose name is Love, And waits, as Noah did, for the dove, To wit if she would fly to him. He waits for us, while, houseless things, We beat about with bruised wings On the dark floods and water-springs, The ruined world, the desolate sea; With open windows from the prime All night, all day, He waits sublime,
Until the fulness of the time Decreed from His eternity.

Work is its own best earthly need,
Else have we none more than the sea-born throng
Who wrought these marvellous isles that bloom afar.

Emily had not one of those poverty-stricken natures which are never glad excepting for some special reason drawing them above themselves. She was naturally joyous and happy, unless under the pressure of an active sorrow that shaded her sky and quenched her sunshine. She lived in an elevated region full of love and wonder, taking kindly alike to reverence and to hope; but she was seldom excited, her feelings were not shallow enough to be easily troubled with excitement, or made fitful with agitation.