Did Man E'er Live Saw Priest Or

I Who Still Pray At Morning And At Eve Thrice In My Life Perhaps Have Truly Prayed, Thrice Stirred Below Conscious Self Have Felt That Perfect Disenthrallment Which Is God.

Now The Heart Is So Full That A Drop Overfills It, We Are Happy Now Because God So Wills It; No Matter How Barren The Past May Have Been, 't Is Enough For Us Now That The Leaves Are Green; We Sit In The Warm Shade And Feel Right Well How The Sap Creeps Up And The Blossoms Swell... The Breeze Comes Whispering In Our Ear, That Dandelions Are Blossoming Near... Every Thing Is Upward Striving; 't Is As Easy Now For The Heart To Be True As For Grass To Be Green Or Skies To Be Blue, - 't Is The Natural Way Of Living.

For Humanity Sweeps Onward: Where Today The Martyr Stands, On The Morrow Crouches Judas With The Silver In His Hands; Far In Front The Cross Stands Ready And The Crackling Fagots Burn, While The Hooting Mob Of Yesterday In Silent Awe Return To Glean Up The Scattered Ashes Into History's Golden Urn.

And What Is So Rare As A Day In June? Then, If Ever, Come Perfect Days; Then Heaven Tries Earth If It Be In Tune, And Over It Softly Her Warm Ear Lays; Whether We Look, Or Whether We Listen, We Hear Life Murmur, Or See It Glisten.

Hush! Still As Death, The Tempest Holds His Breath As From A Sudden Will; The Rain Stops Short, But From The Eaves You See It Drop, And Hear It From The Leaves, All Is So Bodingly Still.