Showers And Sunshine Bring, Slowly, The Deepening

Truth, Crushed To Earth, Shall Rise Again.

A Melancholy Sound Is In The Air, A Deep Sigh In The Distance, A Shrill Wail Around My Dwelling. 'tis The Wind Of Night.

The Groves Were God's First Temples.

There Is A Day Of Sunny Rest For Every Dark And Troubled Night; And Grief May Hide An Evening Guest, But Joy Shall Come With Early Light.

It Is A Sultry Day; The Sun Has Drunk The Dew That Lay Upon The Morning Grass; There Is No Rustling In The Lofty Elm That Canopies My Dwelling, And Its Shade Scarce Cools Me. All Is Silent, Save The Faint And Interrupted Murmur Of The Bee, Settling On The Sick Flowers, And Then Again Instantly On The Wing.