Can Anything Be Sadder Than Work Left

Oh That It Were With Me As With The Flower; Blooming On Its Own Tree For Butterfly And Bee Its Summer Morns: That I Might Bloom Mine Hour A Rose In Spite Of Thorns. Oh That My Work Were Done As Birds' That Soar Rejoicing In The Sun: That When My Time Is Run And Daylight Too, I So Might Rest Once More Cool With Refreshing Dew.

My Life Is Like A Faded Leaf, My Harvest Dwindled To A Husk: Truly My Life Is Void And Brief And Tedious In The Barren Dusk; My Life Is Like A Frozen Thing, No Bud Nor Greenness Can I See: Yet Rise It Shall - The Sap Of Spring; O Jesus, Rise In Me.

Love Is Like A Rose, The Joy Of All The Earth.

Spring's An Expansive Time: Yet I Don't Trust March With Its Peck Of Dust, Nor April With Its Rainbow-crowned Brief Showers, Nor Even May, Whose Flowers One Frost May Wither Thro' The Sunless Hours.

Christmas Hath A Beauty ... Lovelier Than The World Can Show.