The roses under my window make no reference to former roses or better ones; they are what they are; they exist with God today. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence.

The beauty that shimmers in the yellow afternoons of October, who ever could clutch it?

Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful;
for beauty is God’s handwriting — a wayside sacrament.
Welcome it in every fair face, in every fair sky, in every fair flower,
and thank God for it as a cup of blessing.