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Give thy love freely, do not count the cost: So beautiful a thing was never lost.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Age: 68 †
Born: 1850
Born: November 5
Died: 1919
Died: October 30
Author
Poet
Writer
Janesville
Wisconsin
Love
Count
Cost
Lost
Beautiful
Give
Giving
Thing
Never
Freely

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Ah, lady! it is hardly what you thought it, This life of luxury and social power You gave yourself as principal, and bought it, But God extracts the interest hour by hour.
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Better than glory, or honors, or fame, (Though I am striving for those to-day) To know that some heart will cherish my name, And think of me kindly, with blessings, alway.
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For an actress to be a success, she must have the face of Venus, the brains of a Minerva, the grace of Terpsichore, the memory of a Macaulay, the figure of Juno, and the hide of a rhinoceros.
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I was as pure as the morning When I first looked on your face I knew I never could reach you In your high, exalted place.
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The art of being kind is all the world needs.
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Hell is wherever Love is not, and Heaven Is Love's location. No dogmatic creed, No austere faith based on ignoble fear Can lead thee into realms of joy and peace. Unless the humblest creatures on the earth Are bettered by thy loving sympathy Think not to find a Paradise beyond.
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Change is the watchword of progression.
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How will it be when one of us alone Goes on that strange last journey of the soul? That certain search for an uncertain goal, That voyage on which no comradeship is known?
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I know there are no errors, In the great Eternal plan.
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I detect more good than evil in humanity. Love lights more fires than hate extinguishes, And men grow better as the world grows old.
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Love is the only thing that pays for birth, Or makes death welcome. Oh, dear God above This beautiful but sad, perplexing earth, Pity the hearts that know--or know not--Love!
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This dream of our youth will fade out as the splendor Fades from the skies when the sun sinks to sleep.
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We ought to make the moments notes Of happy glad Thanksgiving The hours and days, a silent praise Of music we are living.
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There is no balking genius. Only death can silence it or hinder.
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There is no satisfaction that can compare with looking back across the years and finding you've grown in self-control, judgment, generosity, and unselfishness.
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O skies, be calm! O winds, blow free - Blow all my ships safe home to me! But if thou sendest some a-wrack, To never more come sailing back, Send any - all that skim the sea, But bring my love-ship home to me.
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In the long run all love is paid by love, Though undervalued by the hosts of earth The great eternal Government above Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth. Give thy love freely do not count the cost So beautiful a thing was never lost In the long run.
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Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, your head like the golden rod, and we will go sailing away from here to the beautiful Land Of Nod.
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And he who has dwelt with his heart alone, Hears all the music in friendship's tone. So better and better I comprehend How sorrow ever would be our friend.
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Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving Thy strong regard for me, Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving Let thy faith speak for thee.
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