Time is eternity begun.

Tis human actions paint the chart of time.

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed, The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast. Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near.

There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.

The Dove, on silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.

There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.

Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?