Come, Dear Children, Let Us Away; Down

And Each Day Brings It's Pretty Dust, Our Soon-choked Souls To Fll And We Forget Because We Must, And Not Because We Will.

The Same Heart Beats In Every Human Breast.

The Pursuit Of Perfection, Then, Is The Pursuit Of Sweetness And Light.

The Sea Is Calm Tonight. The Tide Is Full, The Moon Lies Fair Upon The Straits;- On The French Coast The Light Gleams And Is Gone; The Cliffs Of England Stand, Glimmering And Vast, Out In The Tranquil Bay.

Now, The Whole World Hears Or Shall Hear,--surely Shall Hear, At The Last, Though Men Delay, And Doubt, And Faint, And Fail,-- That Promise Faithful:--"fear Not, Little Flock! It Is Your Father's Will And Joy, To Give To You, The Kingdom"!