Child Of Mortality, Whence Comest Thou? Why

There Is A Land, Where The Roses Are Without Thorns, Where The Flowers Are Not Mixed With Brambles. In That Land, There Is Eternal Spring, And Light Without Any Cloud. The Tree Of Life Groweth In The Midst Thereof; Rivers Of Pleasures Are There, And Flowers That Never Fade. Myriads Of Happy Spirits Are There, And Surround The Throne Of God With A Perpetual Hymn. The Angels With Their Golden Harps Sing Praises Continually, And The Cherubim Fly On Wings Of Fire! This Country Is Heaven.

Say Not 'good-night' But In Some Brighter Clime, Bid Me 'good-morning.'

Young Gentlemen, Who Are To Display Their Knowledge To The World, Should Have Every Motive Of Emulation, Should Be Formed Into Regular Classes, Should Read And Dispute Together, Should Have All The Honors, And, If One May Say So, The Pomp Of Learning Set Before Them, To Call Up Their Ardor. It Is Their Business, And They Should Apply To It As Such.

Life! We've Been Long Together Through Pleasant And Through Cloudy Weather; Tis Hard To Part When Friends Are Dear,- Perhaps 'twill Cost A Sigh, A Tear. Then Steal Away, Give Little Warning. Choose Thine Own Time, Say Not "good-night," But In Some Brighter Clime, Bid Me "good-morning."

The Well Taught Philosophic Mind To All Compassion Gives; Casts Round The World An Equal Eye, And Feels For All That Lives.