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

Tis human actions paint the chart of time.

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.

Yet nightly pitch my moving tent, a day's march nearer home.

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

Hymns should have unity, graduation and mutual dependence in the thoughts, a conscious progress, a sense of completeness and be easily understood.

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