So Loving To My Mother, That He

Bow, Stubborn Knees, And, Heart With Strings Of Steel, Be Soft As Sinews Of The New-born Babe. All Many Be Well.

Make The Upcoming Hour Overflow With Joy, And Let Pleasure Drown The Brim.

Love For Thy Love , And Hand For Hand I Give.

How Is It That The Clouds Still Hang On You?

For Though The Camomile, The More It Is Trodden On The Faster It Grows, Yet Youth, The More It Is Wasted, The Sooner It Wears.