The Watchful Mother Tarries Nigh

When The Shore Is Won At Last, Who Will Count The Billow Past?

When You Find Yourself Overpowered, As It Were, By Melancholy, The Best Way Is To Go Out And Do Something.

Sprinkled Along The Waste Of Years Full Many A Soft Green Isle Appears: Pause Where We May Upon The Desert Road, Some Shelter Is In Sight, Some Sacred Safe Abode.

The Deeds We Do, The Words We Say,into Still Air They Seem To Fleet;we Count Them Ever Past;but They Shall Last -in The Dread Judgment Theyand We Shall Meet.

Sun Of My Soul, Thou Savior Dear, It Is Not Night If Thou Be Near. Oh, May No Earthborn Cloud Arise To Hide Thee From Thy Servant's Eyes.