Thou Art The Sun Of Other Days.

Love Masters Agony; The Soul That Seemed Forsaken Feels Her Present God Again And In Her Father's Arms Contented Dies Away.

The Watchful Mother Tarries Nigh Though Sleep Have Closed Her Infant's Eye, For Should He Wake, And Find Her Gone.

Soft As Memnon's Harp At Morning, To The Inward Ear Devout, Touched By Light, With Heavenly Warning Your Transporting Chords Ring Out. Every Leaf In Every Nook, Every Wave In Every Brook, Chanting With A Solemn Voice Minds Us Of Our Better Choice.

Sweet Is The Smile Of Home; The Mutual Look When Hearts Are Of Each Other Sure.

Sprinkled Along The Waste Of Years Full Many A Soft Green Isle Appears: Pause Where We May Upon The Desert Road, Some Shelter Is In Sight, Some Sacred Safe Abode.