Two Roses On One Slender

The Dove, On Silver Pinions, Winged Her Peaceful Way.

Gashed With Honourable Scars,low In Glory's Lap They Lie;though They Fell, They Fell Like Stars,streaming Splendour Through The Sky.

Yet Nightly Pitch My Moving Tent, A Day's March Nearer Home.

Tis Human Actions Paint The Chart Of Time.

Who That Hath Ever Been Could Bear To Be No More? Yet Who Would Tread Again The Scene He Trod Through Life Before?