One by one the sands are flowing, One by one the moments fall; Some are coming, some are going; Do not strive to grasp them all. — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share Image
Do not look at life's long sorrow; see how small each moment's pain. — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share Image
“No star is ever lost we once have seen, We always may be what we might have been Since Good, though only thought, Has life and breath - God's life - can always be redeemed from death. And evil in its nature is decay, And any hour may blot it all away. The hope that lost in some far distance… — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share
Half my life is full of sorrow, Half of joy, still fresh and new; One of these lives is a fancy, But the other… — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share Image
No star is lost once we have seen, We always may be what we might have been. — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share Image
Dreams grow holy put in action; work grows fair through starry dreaming, But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain. — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share Image
No star is ever lost we once have seen, we always may be what we might have been. — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share Image
Kinds hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one Have limits to its mercy; God has none. — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share Image
I know too well the poison and the sting of things too sweet. — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share Image
“Our Beasts and our Thieves and our Chattels Have weight for good or for ill; But the Poor are only His image, His presence, His word, His will; - And so Lazarus lies at our doorstep And Dives neglects him still.” — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share
The men are much alarmed by certain speculations about women; and well they may be, for when the horse and ass begin to think… — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share Image
“Have we not all, amid life's petty strife, Some pure ideal of a noble life That once seemed possible? Did we not hear The flutter of its wings, and feel it near, And just within our reach? It was. And yet We lost it in this daily jar and fret, And now live idle in a vague regret. But still… — Adelaide Anne Procter Copy Share
