Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been. - John Greenleaf Whittier

I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground
Ye tread with boldness shod;
I dare not fix with mete and bound
The love and power of God...
I know not where his islands lift
Their fronded palms in the air;
I only know I cannot drift
Beyond his love and care.

If thou of fortune be bereft,
and in thy store there be but left
two loaves, sell one, and with the
dole, buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.

We lack but open eye and ear
To find the Orient's marvels here;
The still small voice in autumn's hush,
Yon maple wood the burning bush.