True Love's The Gift Which God Has

Sleep The Sleep That Knows Not Breaking, Morn Of Toil, Nor Night Of Waking.

We Shall Never Learn To Feel And Respect Our Real Calling And Destiny, Unless We Have Taught Ourselves To Consider Every Thing As Moonshine, Compared With The Education Of The Heart.

Commend Me To Sterling Honesty Though Clad In Rags.

O Woman! In Our Hours Of Ease Uncertain, Coy, And Hard To Please, And Variable As The Shade By The Light Quivering Aspen Made; When Pain And Anguish Wring The Brow, A Ministering Angel Thou!

Still From The Sire The Son Shall Hear Of The Stern Strife, And Carnage Drear, Of Flodden's Fatal Field, When Shiver'd Was Fair Scotland's Spear, And Broken Was Her Shield!