For As Fire Is Kindled By Fire,

The Watchful Mother Tarries Nigh Though Sleep Have Closed Her Infant's Eye, For Should He Wake, And Find Her Gone.

Pride Of The Dewy Morning, The Swain's Experienced Eye From Thee Takes Timely Warning. Nor Trusts The Gorgeous Sky.

The Voice That Breathed O'er Eden, That Earliest Wedding Day.

The Deeds We Do, The Words We Say,into Still Air They Seem To Fleet;we Count Them Ever Past;but They Shall Last -in The Dread Judgment Theyand We Shall Meet.

Soft As Memnon's Harp At Morning, To The Inward Ear Devout, Touched By Light, With Heavenly Warning Your Transporting Chords Ring Out. Every Leaf In Every Nook, Every Wave In Every Brook, Chanting With A Solemn Voice Minds Us Of Our Better Choice.