It stands in the light transfigured, It speaks from the heights above, "Each Soul Is Its Own Redeemer; There Is No Law But Love."

How will it be when one of us alone Goes on that strange last journey of the soul? That certain search for an uncertain goal, That voyage on which no comradeship is known?

The art of being kind is all the world needs.

We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,And that's the burden of a year.

There is new strength, repose of mind, and inspiration in fresh apparel.

Just a little every day That's the way Children learn to read and write Bit by bit and mite by mite.

We ought to make the moments notes Of happy glad Thanksgiving; The hours and days, a silent praise Of music we are living.