If thou canst but thither, There grows the flower of Peace, The Rose that cannot wither, Thy fortress and thy ease.

If thou canst but thither, There grows the flower of Peace, The Rose that cannot wither, Thy fortress and thy ease.

Dear beauteous death, the jewel of the just.

Man hath still either toys or care: But hath no root, nor to one place is tied, but ever restless and irregular, about this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where; He says it is so far, that he has quite forgot how to go there.

To God, thy country, and thy friend be true.

I saw Eternity the other night Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm as it was bright.

As men are killed by fighting, the truth is lost in disputing.