The Tulip's Petals Shine In Dew, All

Prayer Moves The Arm Which Moves The World, And Brings Salvation Down.

Songs Of Praise The Angels Sang, Heav'n With Alleluias Rang, When Creation Was Begun, When God Spoke And It Was Done.

Night Is The Time To Weep,to Wet With Unseen Tearsthose Graves Of Memory Where Sleepthe Joys Of Other Years.

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.

Who That Hath Ever Been Could Bear To Be No More? Yet Who Would Tread Again The Scene He Trod Through Life Before?