Work! Work! That Is My Unfailing Cure

A Human Heart Can Never Grow Old If It Takes A Lively Interest In The Pairing Of Birds, The Reproduction Of Flowers, And The Changing Tints Of Autumn Leaves.

Flowers Have Spoken To Me More Than I Can Tell In Written Words. They Are The Hieroglyphics Of Angels, Loved By All Men For The Beauty Of Their Character, Though Few Can Decipher Even Fragments Of Their Meaning.

Thy Treasures Of Gold Are Dim With The Blood Of The Hearts Thou Hast Sold; Thy Home May Be Lovely, But Round It I Hear The Crack Of The Whip, And The Footsteps Of Fear.

There Have Always Been A Large Class Of Thinkers Who Deny That The World Makes Any Progress. They Say We Move In A Circle; That Evils Are Never Conquered, But Only Change Their Forms.

Misfortune Is Never Mournful To The Soul That Accepts It; For Such Do Always See That Every Cloud Is An Angel's Face.