Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, ‘It might have been.
the joy that you give to others is the joy that comes back to you
The tints of autumn…a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.
Peace hath higher tests of manhood Than battle ever knew.
Our toil is sweet with thankfulness Our burden is our boon The curse of earth’s gray morning is The blessing of its noon.
Reason’s voice and God’s Nature’s and Duty’s never are at odds.
Through the dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light Up the blackness streaking Knowing God’s own time is best In a patient hope I rest For the full day-breaking!
The craven’s fear is but selfishness like his merriment.
“Shoot if you must this old gray head But spare your country’s flag ” she said.
No longer forward nor behind I look in hope or fear But grateful take the good I find The best of now and here.
Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? Who talks of scheme and plan? The Lord is God! He needeth not The poor device of man.
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!
Before me even as behind God is and all is well.
“I’m sorry that I spell’d the word I hate to go above you Because” – the brown eyes lower fell – “Because you see I love you!”
Every chain that spirits wear crumbles in the breadth of prayer.
The simple heart that freely asks in love obtains.
For of all sad words of tongues or pen the saddest are these: It might have been.
The windows of my soul I throw Wide open to the sun.
Of all sad words of tongue or pen the saddest are these: It might have been.
No longer forward nor behind I look in hope or fear but grateful take the good I find the best of now and here.
For of all sad words of tongue or pen The saddest are these: “It might have been!”
As a small businessperson, you have no greater leverage than the truth.
When faith is lost, when honor dies, the man is dead.
Before me, even as behind, God is, and all is well.
For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, ‘It might have been’.
Peace hath higher tests of manhood, than battle ever knew.
Tradition wears a snowy beard, romance is always young.