That great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it.
Is your love for the Lord sufficient to give all your time and talents to his work?
The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.
What a thing friendship is - World without end.
But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?
My sun sets to rise again.