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.

While rose-buds scarcely show'd their hue, But coyly linger'd on the thorn.

Night is the time to weep,To wet with unseen tearsThose graves of memory where sleepThe joys of other years.

Who that hath ever been Could bear to be no more? Yet who would tread again the scene He trod through life before?

Prayer moves the arm Which moves the world, And brings salvation down.

The tulip's petals shine in dew, All beautiful, but none alike.

The Dead are like the stars by day; Withdrawn from mortal eye, But not extinct, they hold their way In glory through the sky.