See how time makes all grief decay.

No star is lost once we have seen, We always may be what we might have been.

Each man has some part to play.

I know too well the poison and the sting of things too sweet.

Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies To listen to Earth’s weary voices Louder every day Bidding her no longer linger On her charm’d way But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun.

Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys. It seemed the harmonious echo from our discordant life.

I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be a pleasant road.