No Tears Dim The Sweet Look That

Races, Better Than We, Have Leaned On Her Wavering Promise, Having Naught Else But Hope.

Each Morning Sees Some Task Begin, Each Evening Sees It Close.

See Yonder Fire! It Is The Moon Slow Rising O'er The Eastern Hill. It Glimmers On The Forest Tips, And Through The Dewy Foliage Drips In Little Rivulets Of Light, And Makes The Heart In Love With Night.

Music Is The Universal Language Of Mankind.

Even He That Died For Us Upon The Cross, In The Last Hour, In The Unutterable Agony Of Death, Was Mindful Of His Mother, As If To Teach Us That This Holy Love Should Be Our Last Worldly Thought - The Last Point Of Earth From Which The Soul Should Take Its Flight For Heaven.