Noble Souls, Through Dust And

Tis Always Morning Somewhere.

Glorious Indeed Is The World Of God Around Us, But More Glorious The World Of God Within Us.

O Suffering, Sad Humanity! O Ye Afflicted Ones, Who Lie Steeped To The Lips In Misery, Longing, Yet Afraid To Die, Patient, Though Sorely Tried!

O Flower-de-luce, Bloom On, And Let The River Linger To Kiss Thy Feet! O Flower Of Song, Bloom On, And Make Forever The World More Fair And Sweet.

The Soul...is Audible, Not Visible.