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

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.

When to the cross I turn my eyes,And rest on Calvary,O Lamb of God, my sacrifice,I must remember Thee.

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

Tis human actions paint the chart of time.

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

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