The Dove, On Silver Pinions, Winged Her

When Evening Closes Nature's Eye, The Glow-worm Lights Her Little Spark To Captivate Her Favorite Fly And Tempt The Rover Through The Dark.

Yet Nightly Pitch My Moving Tent, A Day's March Nearer Home.

There Is A Calm For Those Who Weep, A Rest For Weary Pilgrims Found, They Softly Lie And Sweetly Sleep Low In The Ground.

There Is A World Above, Where Parting Is Unknown; A Whole Eternity Of Love, Form'd For The Good Alone; And Faith Beholds The Dying Here Translated To That Happier Sphere.

We Fought The Revolutionary War For No Taxation Without Representation, It Seems To Me That We Are Much Worse Off Today, Because We Are Heavily Taxed, And Only The King's Corporations Control This Country, Together With Mob Rule, Of The Special Interests.