Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss. Nature's loving proxy, the watchful mother. Now twilight lets her curtain down and pins it with a star. Tis always morning somewhere in the world. Safe in the hallowed quiets of the past.
Sorrows are like tall angels with star-crowns in their hair.
Strength is born in the deep silence of long-suffering hearts, not amid joy. Tears are often the telescope by which men see far into heaven. The acts of this life are the destiny of the next. The cross leads generations on. The end and the reward of toil is rest.