Do Not The Bright June Roses Blow

Fairest Of All That Earth Beholds, The Hues That Live Among The Clouds, And Flush The Air, Lingering, And Deepening At The Hour Of Dews.

All Things That Are On Earth Shall Wholly Pass Away, Except The Love Of God, Which Shall Live And Last For Aye.

Is Not Thy Home Among The Flowers?

These Struggling Tides Of Life That Seem In Wayward, Aimless Course To Tend, Are Eddies Of The Mighty Stream That Rolls To Its Appointed End.

Yet Will That Beauteous Image Make The Dreary Sea Less Drear And Thy Remembered Smile Will Wake The Hope That Tramples Fear