The clouds are round us, and the snow-wreaths thicken.
O, Thou dear Shepherd, leave us not to sicken 
In the waste night our tardy footsteps quicken :
At evening bring us home

And if the eye must fail of light, 
The ear forget to hear,
Make clearer still the spirit’s sight,
More fine the inward ear!

‘Fear no more the heat of the sun, 
Nor the furious winter rages;
Thou thine earthly task hast done, 
Home art gone and ta’en thy wages.’

Shall I find comfort travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come

It is a fine thing to ripen without shrivelling, to reach the calmness of age, yet keep the warm heart and ready sympathy of youth,

God’s conception of human victory is so much greater than ours that it cannot always adapt itself to our small triumphal processions.  

There is no finer chemistry than that by which the element of suffering is so compounded with spiritual forces that it issues to the world as gentleness and strength.

 ‘I hardly know what to do for the pain’ and yet, when it passes away, we are sensitive to a host of impressions that we before ignored. 

…..Do not pick and choose among events, try and interpret each as it comes.