Oh Roses For The Flush Of Youth,

Where Innocent Bright-eyes Daisies Are With Blades Of Grass Between, Each Daisy Stands Up Like A Star Out Of A Sky Of Green.

Who Has Seen The Wind? Neither You Nor I But When The Trees Bow Down Their Heads, The Wind Is Passing By.

As A Tree My Sin Stands To Darken All Lands; Death Is The Fruit It Bore.

Open Wide The Windows Of Our Spirits And Fill Us Full Of Light; Open Wide The Door Of Our Hearts, That We May Receive And Entertain Thee With All Our Powers Of Adoration.

The Rose Saith In The Dewy Morn, I Am Most Fair; Yet All My Loveliness Is Born Upon A Thorn.