Tis human actions paint the chart of time.

Bliss in possession will not last; Remembered joys are never past.

To-morrow — oh, 'twill never be, If we should live a thousand years! Our time is all to-day, to-day, The same, though changed; and while it flies With still small voice the moments say: "To-day, to-day, be wise, be wise.

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.

There is a world above, Where parting is unknown; A whole eternity of love, Form'd for the good alone; And faith beholds the dying here Translated to that happier sphere.

The Dead are like the stars by day; Withdrawn from mortal eye, But not extinct, they hold their way In glory through the sky.

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