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.

Here hyacinths of heavenly blue, shook their rich tresses to the morn.

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

When evening closes Nature's eye, The glow-worm lights her little spark To captivate her favorite fly And tempt the rover through the dark.

Beyond this vale of tears there is a life above. unmeasured by the flight of years; and all that life is love.

Songs of praise the angels sang, Heav'n with alleluias rang, when creation was begun, when God spoke and it was done.

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.