Look Homeward, Angel, Now, And Melt With

How Soon Hath Time, The Subtle Thief Of Youth, Stolen On His Wing My Three-and-twentieth Year!

One Sip Of This Will Bathe The Drooping Spirits In Delight, Beyond The Bliss Of Dreams.

The Low'ring Element Scowls O'er The Darken'd Landscape.

God Has Set Labor And Rest, As Day And Night To Men Successive.

Apostate, Still Thou Err'st, Nor End Wilt Find Offering, From The Paths Of Truth Remote.