The Watchful Mother Tarries Nigh Though Sleep

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.

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

Look In, And See Christ's Chosen Saint In Triumph Wear His Christ-like Chain; No Fear Lest He Should Swerve Or Faint; "his Life Is Christ, His Death Is Gain.

And Help Us, This And Every Day, To Live More Nearly As We Pray.

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