If thou couldst trust, poor soul! In Him who rules the whole, Thou wouldst find peace and rest; Wisdom and sight are well, but trust is best. - Adelaide Anne Procter

Kind hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one Have limits to its mercy; God has none.

Words are mighty, words are living: Serpents with their venomous stings, Or bright angels, crowding round us, With heaven's light upon their wings: Every word has its own spirit, True or false, that never dies; Every word man's lips have uttered Echoes in God's skies.

Dreams grow holy put in action; work grows fair through starry dreaming, But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain.