It Is With Rivers As

For Ever So Our Thoughtful Hearts Repeaton Fields Of Triumph Dirges Of Defeat;and Still We Turn On Gala-days To Treadamong The Rustling Memories Of The Dead.

The Strength Of Your Life Is Measured By The Strength Of Your Will.

So In The Heart, When, Fading Slowly Down The Past, Fond Memories Depart, And Each That Leaves It Seems The Last; Long After All The Rest Are Flown, Returns A Solitary Tone,— The After-echo Of Departed Years,— And Touches All The Soul To Tears.

A Friend Is What The Heart Needs All The Time.

Lord, When My Spirit Shall Return To Thee, At The Foot Of A Friendly Tree Let My Body Be Buried, That This Dust May Rise And Rejoice Among The Branches.