ALICE CARY

Nothing in this low and ruined world bears the meek impress of the Son of God so surely as forgiveness.

Yea, when mortality dissolves, Shall I not meet thine hour unawed? My house eternal in the heavens Is lighted by the smile of God!

My soul is full of whispered song,-My blindness is my sight;The shadows that I feared so longAre full of life and light.

Women and men in the crowd meet and mingle, Yet with itself every soul standeth single.

For he who is honest is noble, Whatever his fortunes or birth.

He who loves best his fellow-man, is loving God the holiest way he can.

The path of duty I clearly trace, / I stand with conscience face to face, / And all her pleas allow; / Calling and crying the while for grace, - / 'Some other time, and some other place; / Oh, not to-day; not now!

I sit where the leaves of the maple and the gnarled and knotted gum are circling and drifting around me.

Not what we think, but what we do, / Makes saints of us: all stiff and cold, / The outlines of the corpse show through / The cloth of gold.

Women and men in the crowd meet and mingle, Yet with itself every soul standeth single.

There's nothing so kingly as kindness, and nothing so royal as truth.

We serve Him most who take the most of His exhaustless love.

For he who is honest is noble, Whatever his fortunes or birth.

True worth is in being, not seeming- In doing, each day that goes by, Some little good, not in the dreaming Of great things to do by and by. For whatever men say in their blindness, And spite of the fancies of youth, There's nothing so kingly as kindness, And nothing so royal as truth.

True worth is in being, not seeming

The attempt is all the wedge that splits its knotty way betwixt the impossible and possible.

Shut up the door: who loves me must not look / Upon the withered world, but haste to bring / His lighted candle, and his story-book, / And live with me the poetry of spring.

My soul is full of whispered song,-My blindness is my sight;The shadows that I feared so longAre full of life and light.

Every life is meant to help all lives; each man should live for all men's betterment.

The path of duty I clearly trace, / I stand with conscience face to face, / And all her pleas allow; / Calling and crying the while for grace, - / 'Some other time, and some other place; / Oh, not to-day; not now!

I sit where the leaves of the maple and the gnarled and knotted gum are circling and drifting around me.

Not what we think, but what we do, / Makes saints of us: all stiff and cold, / The outlines of the corpse show through / The cloth of gold.

Nothing in this low and ruined world bears the meek impress of the Son of God so surely as forgiveness.

With hand on the spade and heart in the sky Dress the ground and till it; Turn in the little seed, brown and dry, Turn out the golden millet. Work, and your house shall be duly fed: Work, and rest shall be won; I hold that a man had better be dead Than alive when his work is done.

He who loves best his fellow-man, is loving God the holiest way he can.

Yea, when mortality dissolves, Shall I not meet thine hour unawed? My house eternal in the heavens Is lighted by the smile of God!

Even for the dead I will not bind my soul to grief, death cannot long divide; for is it not as if the rose that climbed my garden wall had bloomed the other side?

The fisher droppeth his net in the stream, And a hundred streams are the same as one; And the maiden dreameth her love-lit dream; And what is it all, when all is done? The net of the fisher the burden breaks, And always the dreaming the dreamer wakes.

Coldly and capriciously the slanting sunbeams fall.

I hold that a man had better be dead than alive when his work is done.

I hold that Christian grace abounds Where charity is seen; that when We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds Of love to men.