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

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.

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.

When the good man yields his breath (For the good man never dies).

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

Two roses on one slender spray In sweet communion grew, Together hailed the morning ray And drank the evening dew.

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