When Evening Closes Nature's Eye, The Glow-worm

To-morrow — Oh, 'twill Never Be, If We Should Live A Thousand Years! Our Time Is All To-day, To-day, The Same, Though Changed; And While It Flies With Still Small Voice The Moments Say: "to-day, To-day, Be Wise, Be Wise.

While Rose-buds Scarcely Show'd Their Hue, But Coyly Linger'd On The Thorn.

Tis Human Actions Paint The Chart Of Time.

When The Good Man Yields His Breath (for The Good Man Never Dies).

Prayer Is The Soul's Sincere Desire, Uttered Or Unexpressed, The Motion Of A Hidden Fire That Trembles In The Breast. Prayer Is The Burden Of A Sigh, The Falling Of A Tear, The Upward Glancing Of An Eye When None But God Is Near.