Tyranny Is Yielding To The Lust Of

That Soul That Can Be Honest Is The Only Perfect Man.

Our Acts Our Angels Are, For Good Or Ill, Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.

Only Look To Jesus. He Died For You, Died In Your Place, Died Under The Frowns Of Heaven, That We Might Die Under Its Smile.

Weep No More, Nor Sigh, Nor Groan, Sorrow Calls No Time That 's Gone; Violets Plucked, The Sweetest Rain Makes Not Fresh Nor Grow Again.

O Great Corrector Of Enormous Times, Shaker Of O'er-rank States, Thou Grand Decider Of Dusty And Old Titles, That Healest With Blood The Earth When It Is Sick, And Curest The World O' The Pleurisy Of People.