We Strain Hardest For Things Which Are

Good Is That Darkening Of Our Lives, Which Only God Can Brighten; But Better Still That Hopeless Load, Which None But God Can Lighten.

Small Things Are Best: Grief And Unrest To Rank And Wealth Are Given; But Little Things On Little Wings Bear Little Souls To Heaven.

Now This Spirit Is Admirably Mortified By The Exercise Of Patience. It Involves Also A Continual Practice Of The Presence Of God; For We May Be Come Upon At Any Moment For An Almost Heroic Display Of Good Temper. It Is A Short Road To Unselfishness; For Nothing Is Left To Self. All That Seems To Belong Most Intimately To Self, To Be Self's Private Property, Such As Time, Home, And Rest, Are Invaded By These Continual Trials Of Patience.

We Cannot Resist The Conviction That This World Is For Us Only The Porch Of Another And More Magnificent Temple Of The Creator's Majesty.

Eternity Will Not Be Long Enough To Learn All He Is, Or To Praise Him For All He Has Done, But Then, That Matters Not; For We Shall Be Always With Him, And We Desire Nothing More.