A Word I Want To See Written

And Let It Direct Your Passion With Reason, That Your Passion May Livethrough Its Own Daily Resurrection, And Like The Phoenix Rise Above Its Own Ashes.

O Love, Whose Lordly Hand Has Bridled My Desires, And Raised My Hunger And My Thirst To Dignity And Pride, Let Not The Strong In Me And The Constant Eat The Bread Or Drink The Wine That Tempt My Weaker Self. Let Me Rather Starve, And Let My Heart Parch With Thirst, And Let Me Die And Perish, Ere I Stretch My Hand To A Cup You Did Not Fill, Or A Bowl You Did Not Bless.

Much Of Your Pain Is Self-chosen. It Is The Bitter Potion By Which The Physician Within You Heals Your Sick Self. Therefore Trust The Physician, And Drink His Remedy In Silence And Tranquility: For His Hand, Though Heavy And Hard, Is Guided By The Tender Hand Of The Unseen, And The Cup He Brings, Though It Burn Your Lips, Has Been Fashioned Of The Clay Which The Potter Has Moistened With His Own Sacred Tears.

Of Life's Two Chief Prizes, Beauty And Truth, I Found The First In A Loving Heart And The Second In A Laborer's Hand.

The Very Strength That Protects The Heart From Injury Is The Strength That Prevents The Heart From Enlarging To Its Intended Greatness Within. The Song Of The Voice Is Sweet, But The Song Of The Heart Is The Pure Voice Of Heaven.