Into Each Life Some Rain

No Tears Dim The Sweet Look That Nature Wears.

The Morrow Was A Bright September Morn; The Earth Was Beautiful As If Newborn; There Was Nameless Splendor Everywhere, That Wild Exhilaration In The Air, Which Makes The Passers In The City Street Congratulate Each Other As They Meet.

He That Respects Himself Is Safe From Others. He Wears A Coat Of Mail That None Can Pierce.

All Things Come Round To Him Who Will But Wait.

Thus At The Flaming Forge Of Life Our Fortunes Must Be Wrought; Thus On Its Sounding Anvil Shaped Each Burning Deed And Thought!