You were made perfectly to be loved - and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long.
God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in it.
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
But the child's sob curses deeper in the silence than the strong man in his wrath!
How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.