While Genius Was Thus Wasting His Strength

When One By One Our Ties Are Torn, And Friend From Friend Is Snatched Forlorn; When Man Is Left Alone To Mourn, Oh! Then How Sweet It Is To Die!

Life! We've Been Long Together Through Pleasant And Through Cloudy Weather; Tis Hard To Part When Friends Are Dear,- Perhaps 'twill Cost A Sigh, A Tear. Then Steal Away, Give Little Warning. Choose Thine Own Time, Say Not "good-night," But In Some Brighter Clime, Bid Me "good-morning."

Time Deals Gently With Me; And Though I Feel That I Descend, The Slope Is Easy.

The Awakenings Of Remorse, Virtuous Shame And Indignation, The Glow Of Moral Approbation If They Do Not Lead To Action, Grow Less And Less Vivid Every Time They Occur, Till At Length The Mind Grows Absolutely Callous.

There Is A Land, Where The Roses Are Without Thorns, Where The Flowers Are Not Mixed With Brambles. In That Land, There Is Eternal Spring, And Light Without Any Cloud. The Tree Of Life Groweth In The Midst Thereof; Rivers Of Pleasures Are There, And Flowers That Never Fade. Myriads Of Happy Spirits Are There, And Surround The Throne Of God With A Perpetual Hymn. The Angels With Their Golden Harps Sing Praises Continually, And The Cherubim Fly On Wings Of Fire! This Country Is Heaven.