If We Tried To Sink The Past

World's Use Is Cold, World's Love Is Vain, World's Cruelty Is Bitter Bane; But Is Not The Fruit Of Pain.

A Great Man Leaves Clean Work Behind Him, And Requires No Sweeper Up Of The Chips.

The Soul Hath Snatched Up Mine All Faint And Weak,and Placed It By Thee On A Golden Throne,-- And That I Love (o Soul, We Must Be Meek!)is By Thee Only, Whom I Love Alone.

Oh, The Little Birds Sang East, And The Little Birds Sang West.

And If God Choose I Shall But Love Thee Better After Death.