Waiting Is Far More Difficult Than Doing.

Oh, I Can't Describe My Home. It Is Home, And I Can't Put Its Charm Into Words

I Am The Mother That Bore You, And Your Sorrow Is My Agony; And If You Don't Hate Her, I Do' Then, Mother, You Make Me Love Her More. She Is Unjustly Treated By You, And I Must Make The Balance Even.

A Great Matter Calls Her Son With Terms Like Deal, And Love.

I Wish I Could Love People As You Do, Molly!' 'don't You?' Said The Other, In Surprise. 'no. A Good Number Of People Love Me, I Believe, Or At Least They Think They Do; But I Never Seem To Care Much For Any One. I Do Believe I Love You, Little Molly, Whom I Have Only Known For Ten Days, Better Than Any One.

The Question Always Is, Has Everything Been Done To Make The Sufferings Of These Exceptions As Small As Possible? Or, In The Triumph Of The Crowded Procession, Have The Helpless Been Trampled On, Instead Of Being Gently Lifted Aside Out Of The Roadway Of The Conqueror, Whom They Have No Power To Accompany On His March?