Write It As It Is,

In The Life Of Each Of Us There Is A Place Remote And Islanded, And Given To Endless Regret Or Secret Happiness.

To Let God Make Us, Instead Of Painfully Trying To Make Ourselves; To Follow The Path That His Love Shows Us, Instead Of Through Conceit Or Cowardice Or Mockery Choosing Another; To Trust Him For Our Strength And Fitness As The Flowers Do, Simply Giving Ourselves Back To Him In Grateful Service,—this Is To Keep The Laws That Give Us The Freedom Of The City In Which There Is No Longer Any Night Of Bewilderment Or Ignorance Or Uncertainty.

So We Die Before Our Own Eyes; So We See Some Chapters Of Our Lives Come To Their Natural End.

We Have These Instincts Which Defy All Our Wisdom And For Which We Never Can Frame Any Laws. ... They Are Powers Which Are Imperfectly Developed In This Life, But One Cannot Help The Thought That The Mystery Of This World May Be The Commonplace Of The Next.

There's Some Herb That's Good For Everybody, Except For Them That Thinks They're Sick When They Ain't.