Day Of The Lord, As All Our

Even He That Died For Us Upon The Cross, In The Last Hour, In The Unutterable Agony Of Death, Was Mindful Of His Mother, As If To Teach Us That This Holy Love Should Be Our Last Worldly Thought - The Last Point Of Earth From Which The Soul Should Take Its Flight For Heaven.

People Demand Freedom Only When They Have No Power.

Silently, One By One, In The Infinite Meadows Of Heaven, Blossomed The Lovely Stars, The Forget-me-nots Of The Angels.

The Day Is Cold, And Dark, And Dreary; It Rains, And The Wind In Never Weary; The Vine Still Clings To The Mouldering Wall, But At Every Gust The Dead Leaves Fall, And The Day Is Dark And Dreary.

The Trees Are White With Dust, That O'er Their Sleep Wave Their Broad Curtains In The South-wind's Breath, While Underneath Such Leafy Tents They Keep The Long, Mysterious Exodus Of Death.