For There Is No Friend Like A

Not As She Is, But As She Fills His Dream

Love Loves For Ever, And Finds A Sort Of Joy In Pain, And Gives With Nought To Take Again, And Loves Too Well To End In Vain: Is The Gain Small Then? Love Laughs At "never", Outlives Our Life, Exceeds The Span Appointed To Mere Mortal Man: All Which Love Is And Does And Can Is All In All Then.

It Is Not The Deed We Do Though The Deed Be Never So Fair, But The Love That The Dear Lord Looketh For, Hidden With Lovely Care In The Heart Of The Deed So Fair.

My Heart Is Like A Singing Bird Whose Nest Is In A Water'd Shoot; My Heart Is Like An Apple-tree Whose Boughs Are Bent With Thick-set Fruit.

Does The Road Wind Up-hill All The Way? Yes, To The Very End.