Morning has broken, Like the first morning, Blackbird has spoken Like the first bird. Praise for the singing! Praise for the morning! Praise for them springing Fresh from the Word!

The world never knows, and cannot for the life of it imagine, what this man sees in that maid and that maid in this man. The world cannot think why they fell i…

Sweet the rain's new fall, Sunlit from heaven, Like the first dewfall On the first grass.

Women are so strangely constructed that they have in them darkness as well as light, though it be but a little curtain hung across the sun. And love is the han…

Flowers rejoice when night is done, Lift their heads to greet the sun; Sweetest looks and odours raise, In a silent hymn of praise.

Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! In youth it sheltered me, And I 'll protect it now.

'T is always morning somewhere in the world.