Joys too exquisite to last, And yet more exquisite when past.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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