The Tulip's Petals Shine In Dew, All

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

Joys Too Exquisite To Last, And Yet More Exquisite When Past.

Gashed With Honourable Scars,low In Glory's Lap They Lie;though They Fell, They Fell Like Stars,streaming Splendour Through The Sky.

If God Hath Made This World So Fair, Where Sin And Death Abound, How Beautiful Beyond Compare Will Paradise Be Found!

Dark-green And Gemm'd With Flowers Of Snow, With Close Uncrowded Branches Spread Not Proudly High, Nor Meanly Low, A Graceful Myrtle Rear'd Its Head.