What We Do Belongs To What We

For Ever So Our Thoughtful Hearts Repeaton Fields Of Triumph Dirges Of Defeat;and Still We Turn On Gala-days To Treadamong The Rustling Memories Of The Dead.

He That Planteth A Tree Is A Servant Of God, He Provideth A Kindness For Many Generations, And Faces That He Hath Not Seen Shall Bless Him.

If All The Skies Were Sunshine Our Faces Would Be Fain To Feel Once More Upon Them The Cooling Splash Of Rain. If All The World Were Music, Our Hearts Would Often Long For One Sweet Strain Of Silence, To Break The Endless Song If Life Were Always Merry, Our Souls Would Seek Relief, And Rest From Weary Laughter In The Quiet Arms Of Grief.

So In The Heart, When, Fading Slowly Down The Past, Fond Memories Depart, And Each That Leaves It Seems The Last; Long After All The Rest Are Flown, Returns A Solitary Tone,— The After-echo Of Departed Years,— And Touches All The Soul To Tears.

For Those Who Love... Time Is Eternity.