THE moving finger writes; and having writ.
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a word of it.
CAST forth thy Act, thy Word, into the ever-living, ever-working Universe; it is a seed grain that cannot die; unnoticed to-day (says one), it will be found flourishing as a Banyan-grove (perhaps, alas, as a Hemlock-forest!) after a thousand years.
UNDER no circumstances, whether of pain, or grief, or disappointment, or irreparable mistake, can it be true that there is not something to be done, as well as something to be suffered. And thus it is that the spirit of Christianity draws over our life, not a leaden cloud of remorse and despondency, but a sky—not perhaps of radiant, but yet—of most serene and chastened manly hope. There is a Past which is gone for ever. But there is a Future which is still our own.
Frederick W. Robertson