Joy descends gently upon us like the evening dew, and does not patter down like a hailstorm.

Gray hairs seem to my fancy like the soft light of the moon, silvering over the evening of life.

The darkness of death is like the evening twilight; it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying.

There is a joy in sorrow which none but a mourner can know.

How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.

There are souls in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere and of leaving it behind them when they go.