With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.

There is always change, bad customs pass and give way to better ones.

Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again

And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.

Tis a morning pure and sweet, And a dewy splendour falls On the little flower that clings To the turrets and the walls; 'Tis a morning pure and sweet, And the light and shadow fleet; She is walking in the meadow, And the woodland echo rings; In a moment we shall meet; She is singing in the meadow, And the rivulet at her feet Ripples on in light and shadow To the ballad that she sings.

Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

All precious things, discover'd late, To those that seek them issue forth, For love in sequel works with fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth.