What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine, The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine.

A passion for flowers, is, I think, the only one which long sickness leaves untouched with its chilling influence.

Is it where the flow'r of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance thro' the myrtle boughs?

What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine, The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine.

Gird your hearts with silent fortitude, Suffering, yet hoping all things.

life's best balm - Forgetfulness!

Though the past haunt me as a spirit, I do not ask to forget.