The Sorrowful Spirit Finds Relaxation

If Winter Should Say, 'spring Is In My Heart,' Who Would Believe Winter?

When You Work You Fulfill A Part Of Earth's Furthest Dream, Assigned To You When That Dream Was Born, And What Is It To Work With Love? It Is To Weave The Cloth With Threads Drawn From Your Heart, Even As If Your Beloved Were To Wear That Cloth. It Is To Build A House With Affection, Even As If Your Beloved Were To Dwell In That House. It Is To Sow Seeds With Tenderness And Reap The Harvest With Joy, Even As If Your Beloved Were To Eat The Fruit. It Is To Charge All Things You Fashion With A Breath Of Your Own Spirit. Work Is Love Made Visible

And Let Your Best Be For Your Friend. If He Must Know The Ebb Of Your Tide, Let Him Know Its Flood Also. For What Is Your Friend That Your Should Seek With Him Hours To Kill? Seek With Him Always Hours To Live. For It Is His To Fill Your Need, But Not Your Emptiness. And In The Sweetness Of Friendship, Let There Be Laughter, And The Sharing Of Pleasures. For In The Dew Of Little Things The Heart Finds Its Morning And Is Refreshed.

Out Of Suffering Have Emerged The Strongest Souls; The Most Massive Characters Are Seared With Scars.

Strange That We All Defend Our Wrongs With More Vigor Than We Do Our Rights.