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

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

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

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

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.

The Dead are like the stars by day; Withdrawn from mortal eye, But not extinct, they hold their way In glory through the sky.

Tis human actions paint the chart of time.