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

Joys too exquisite to last, And yet more exquisite when past.

Eagle of flowers! I see thee stand, And on the sun's noon-glory gaze; With eye like his, thy lids expand, And fringe their disk with golden rays: Though fix'd on earth, in darkness rooted there, Light is thy element, thy dwelling air, Thy prospect heaven.

Baptize the nations! far and nigh,The triumphs of the cross recordThe name of Jesus glorify,Till every people call Him Lord.

Eternity: a moment standing still for ever.

When the good man yields his breath (For the good man never dies).

A mother's love — how sweet the name! What is a mother's love? — A noble, pure and tender flame, Enkindled from above, To bless a heart of earthly mould; The warmest love that can grow cold; This is a mother's love.