The Dove, On Silver Pinions, Winged Her

When To The Cross I Turn My Eyes,and Rest On Calvary,o Lamb Of God, My Sacrifice,i Must Remember Thee.

Here Hyacinths Of Heavenly Blue, Shook Their Rich Tresses To The Morn.

Night Is The Time To Weep,to Wet With Unseen Tearsthose Graves Of Memory Where Sleepthe Joys Of Other Years.

Prayer Is The Soul's Sincere Desire, Uttered Or Unexpressed, The Motion Of A Hidden Fire That Trembles In The Breast. Prayer Is The Burden Of A Sigh, The Falling Of A Tear, The Upward Glancing Of An Eye When None But God Is Near.

Beyond This Vale Of Tears There Is A Life Above. Unmeasured By The Flight Of Years; And All That Life Is Love.