|John Bartlett (18201905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.|
|Helen (Fiske) Hunt Jackson. (18301885)|
| All lost things are in the angels keeping, Love;|
No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love.
| At last.|
| Like a blind spinner in the sun,|
I tread my days:
I know that all the threads will run
I know each day will bring its task,
And being blind no more I ask.
| On the kings gate the moss grew gray;|
The king came not. They called him dead
And made his eldest son one day
Slave in his fathers stead.
| Father, I scarcely dare to pray,|
So clear I see, now it is done,
How I have wasted half my day,
And left my work but just begun.
| A last Prayer.|
| The voice of one who goes before, to make|
The paths of June more beautiful, is thine