Truth is sensitive and jealous of the least encroachment of its sacredness.
Faith that withstood the shocks of toil and time, Hope that defied despair, Patience that conquered care, And loyalty whose courage was sublime;
Teaching us how to seek the highest goal, To earn the true success; To live to love, to bless, And make death proud to take a royal soul.
Nor is it Wiser to weep a true occasion lost, But trim our sails, and let old bygones be.
In hope of eternal life, which God, who cannot lie, promised before times eternal.
Heavenly Father, I pray that I may live in truth; and without fear of life or death live content in the faith of eternal life. Amen.
Samuel L. Clemens (Mark Twain) born 1835.
He gave it for his opinion that whoever could make two ears of corn, or two blades of grass, to grow upon a spot of ground where only one grew before, would deserve better of mankind, and do more essential service to his country, than the whole race of politicians put together.
That man may last, but never lives, Who much receives, but nothing gives; Whom none can love, whom none can thank,-- Creation's blot, creation's blank.
Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, shall they give into your bosom. For with what measure ye mete it shall be measured to you again.
My Father, preserve my soul from all selfishness. May I delight in thy teaching as I trust in thy word. I pray that I may not only speak truthfully, but that I may leave the door of my spirit open, that truth may always enter and abide continually. Amen.
He comes--he comes--the Frost Spirit comes: You may trace his footsteps now On the naked woods and the blasted fields, And the brown hill's withered brow. He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees, Where their green came forth, And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, Have shaken them down to earth.
He comes--he comes--the Frost Spirit comes! Let us meet him as we may, And turn with the light of the parlor fire His evil power away; And gather closer the circle round, Where the firelight dances high, And laugh at the shriek of the baffled fiend, As his sounding wing goes by.
We would fill the hours with the sweetest things, If we had but a day: We should drink alone at the purest springs, In our upward way: We should guide our wayward or wearied will, By the clearest light: We should keep our eyes on the heavenly hills, If they lay in sight: We should be from our clamorous selves set free, To work and pray: And be what the Father would have us to be, If we had but a day.