Look at a day when you are supremely satisfied at the end. It's not a day when you lounge around read more

Look at a day when you are supremely satisfied at the end. It's not a day when you lounge around doing nothing; it's when you've had everything to do, and you've done it.

From fibers of pain and hope and trouble
And toil and happiness,--one by one,--
Twisted together, or read more

From fibers of pain and hope and trouble
And toil and happiness,--one by one,--
Twisted together, or single or double,
The varying thread of our life is spun.
Hope shall cheer though the chain be galling;
Light shall come though the gloom be falling;
Faith will list for the Master calling
Our hearts to his rest,--when the day is done.

The better day, the worse deed.

The better day, the worse deed.

Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day! For it is Life,
The very read more

Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day! For it is Life,
The very Life of Life.
In its brief course lie all the Varieties
And Realities of your Existence;
The Bliss of Growth,
The Glory of Action,
The Splendor of Beauty;
For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And Tomorrow is only a Vision;
But Today well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day!
Such is the Salutation of Dawn.

Every day may not be good... but there's something good in every day.

Every day may not be good... but there's something good in every day.

Days that need borrow
No part of their good morrow,
From a fore-spent night of sorrow.

Days that need borrow
No part of their good morrow,
From a fore-spent night of sorrow.

Think that day lost whose (low) descending sun
Views from thy hand no noble action done.
[Lat., read more

Think that day lost whose (low) descending sun
Views from thy hand no noble action done.
[Lat., Virtus sui gloria.]

Daughter of Time, the hypocrite Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an read more

Daughter of Time, the hypocrite Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands;
To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdom, stars, and sky that holds them all;
I, in my pleached garden watched the pomp
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day
Turned and departed silent. I too late
Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.

Is not every meanest day the confluence of two eternities?

Is not every meanest day the confluence of two eternities?