O Lovely Eyes Of Azure, Clear As

Perhaps There Lives Some Dreamy Boy, Untaught In Schools, Some Graduate Of The Field Or Street, Who Shall Become A Master Of Art, An Admiral Sailing The High Seas Of Thought Fearless And First, And Steering With His Fleet For Lands Not Yet Laid Down In Any Chart.

God's Voice Was Not In The Earthquake, Not In The Fire, Nor The Storm, But It Was In The Whispering Breezes.

A Torn Jacket Is Soon Mended; But Hard Words Bruise The Heart Of A Child.

I Shot An Arrow Into The Air, It Fell To Earth, I Knew Not Where.

I Am More Afraid Of Deserving Criticism Than Of Receiving It.