The Human Voice Is The Organ Of

For The Structure That We Raise, Time Is With Materials Filled; Our To-days And Yesterdays Are The Blocks With Which We Build.

Never Idle A Moment, But Thrifty And Thoughtful Of Others.

How Beautiful Is The Rain! After The Dust And The Heat, In The Broad And Fiery Street, In The Narrow Lane, How Beautiful Is The Rain!

Sweet As The Tender Fragrance That Survives, When Martyred Flowers Breathe Out Their Little Lives, Sweet As A Song That Once Consoled Our Pain, But Never Will Be Sung To Us Again, Is They Remembrance. Now The Hour Of Rest Hath Come To Thee. Sleep, Darling: It Is Best.

In What A Forge And What A Heat Were Shaped The Anchors Of Thy Hope! Fear Not Each Sudden Sound And Shock; 'tis Of The Wave And Not The Rock.