Tis Always Morning Somewhere.

But The Nearer The Dawn The Darker The Night, And By Going Wrong All Things Come Right. Things Have Been Mended That Were Worse, And The The Worse, The Nearer They Are To Mend.

And The Bright Faces Of My Young Companions Are Wrinkled Like My Own, Or Are No More.

Fear Is The Virtue Of Slaves; But The Heart That Loveth Is Willing.

Music Is The Language Spoken By Angels.

That Tree Is Very Old, But I Never Saw Prettier Blossoms On It Than It Now Bears. That Tree Grows New Wood Each Year. Like That Apple Tree, I Try To Grow A New Little Wood Each Year.