Yet If You Should Forget Me For

Born In A Stable, Cradled In A Manger, In The World His Hands Have Made, Born A Stranger.

As A Tree My Sin Stands To Darken All Lands; Death Is The Fruit It Bore.

When I Am Dead, My Dearest, Sing No Sad Songs For Me; Plant Thou No Roses At My Head, Nor Shady Cypress Tree: Be The Green Grass Above Me With Showers And Dewdrops Wet: And If Thou Wilt, Remember, And If Thou Wilt, Forget. I Shall Not See The Shadows, I Shall Not Feel The Rain; I Shall Not Hear The Nightingale Sing On As If In Pain: And Dreaming Through The Twilight That Doth Not Rise Nor Set, Haply I May Remember, And Haply I May Forget.

Obedience Is The Fruit Of Faith.

Love Loves For Ever, And Finds A Sort Of Joy In Pain, And Gives With Nought To Take Again, And Loves Too Well To End In Vain: Is The Gain Small Then? Love Laughs At "never", Outlives Our Life, Exceeds The Span Appointed To Mere Mortal Man: All Which Love Is And Does And Can Is All In All Then.