My life is like a weaving between my God and me I do not choose the colors he works steadily Sometimes he weaves sorrow and I in foolish pride Forget he sees the upper and I the underside Not ’til the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly Will God unroll the canvas […]

When life as opening buds is sweet, And golden hopes the fancy greet, And Youth prepares his joys to meet, – – Alas! how hard it is to die! When just is seized some valued prize, And duties press, and tender ties Forbid the soul from earth to rise, – – How awful then it […]

By Mary Frye Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow. I am the gentle showers of rain, I am the fields of ripening grain. I am in the morning hush, I am in […]