I Have No Gift Of Words, But

Daughter Am I In My Mother's House, But Mistress In My Own.

If You Can Force Your Heart And Nerve And Sinew To Serve Your Turn Long After They Are Gone, And So Hold On When There Is Nothing In You Except The Will Which Says To Them: 'hold On!'

For Undemocratic Reasons And For Motives Not Of State, They Arrive At Their Conclusions, Largely Inarticulate. Being Void Of Self-expression They Confide Their Views To None; But Sometimes In A Smoking Room, One Learns Why Things Were Done.

Who Has Smelled The Woodsmoke At Twilight, Who Has Seen The Campfire Burning, Who Is Quick To Read The Noises Of The Night?

She Is Intensely Human, And Lives To Look Upon Life.