John Greenleaf Whittier

Oh for boyhoods painless play sleep that wakes in laughing day health that mocks the doctors rules knowledge never learned of schools.

For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: 'It might have been!

When faith is lost, when honor dies, the man is dead.

All the windows of my heart I open to the day.

One brave deed makes no hero.

Peace hath higher tests of manhood, than battle ever knew.

Yet, in the maddening maze of things, And tossed by storm and flood, To one fixed trust my spirit clings; I know that God is good!

God's colors all are fast.

The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray And darkly circled gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon.

Tradition wears a snowy beard, romance is always young.

Peace hath higher tests of manhood than battle ever knew.

The windows of my soul I throw wide open to the sun.

For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.

A faint blush melting through the light of thy transparent cheek like a rose leaf bathed in dew.

I'll lift you and you lift me, and we'll both ascend together.

From the death of the old the new proceeds, and the life of truth from the death of creeds.

And close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood.

It is no use trying to sum people up. One must follow hints, not exactly what is said, nor yet entirely what is done.

A little smile a word of cheer A bit of love from someone near A little gift from one held dear Best wishes for the coming year. These make a merry christmas

You dont always win your battles but its good to know you fought.

Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.

Beauty seen is never lost, God's colors all are fast.

Rest if you must, but never quit.

As a small businessperson, you have no greater leverage than the truth.

The smile of God is victory.

For all sad words of tongue and pen the saddest are these It might have been.

For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, "It might have been."

You don't always win your battles, but it's good to know you fought.

Before me, even as behind, God is, and all is well.

Swan flocks of lilies shoreward lying, In sweetness, not in music, dying.

Give fools their gold, and knaves their power; let fortune's bubbles rise and fall; who sows a field, or trains a flower, or plants a tree, is more than all.

The best of a book is not the thought which it contains, but the thought which it suggests; just as the charm of music dwells not in the tones but in the echoes of our hearts.