Labor, In Itself, Is Neither Elevating Or

Thou Hastenest Down Between The Hills To Meet Me At The Road, The Secret Scarcely Lisping Of Thy Beautiful Abode Among The Pines And Mosses Of Yonder Shadowy Height, Where Thou Dost Sparkle Into Song, And Fill The Woods With Light.

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.

Labor, In Itself, Is Neither Elevating Or Otherwise. It Is The Laborer's Privilege To Ennoble His Work By The Aim With Which He Undertakes It, And By The Enthusiasm And Faithfulness He Puts Into It.

From The First Opening Of Our Eyes, It Is The Light That Attracts Us. We Clutch Aimlessly With Our Baby Fingers At The Gossamer-motes In The Sunbeam, And We Die Reaching Out After An Ineffable Blending Of Earthly And Heavenly Beauty Which We Shall Never Fully Comprehend.

Every True Friend Is A Glimpse Of God.