|
He liveth long who liveth
well;
All else is life but flung away;
He liveth longest who can tell
Of true things truly done each day.
Then fill each hour with
what will last;
Buy up the moments as they go;
The life above, when this is past,
Is the ripe fruit of life below.
Sow love, and taste its
fruitage pure;
Sow peace, and reap its harvest bright;
Sow sunbeams on the rock and moor,
And find a harvest-home of light.
- HORATIUS BONAR. |
