Follow Thou Thy Choice.

It Is A Sultry Day; The Sun Has Drunk The Dew That Lay Upon The Morning Grass; There Is No Rustling In The Lofty Elm That Canopies My Dwelling, And Its Shade Scarce Cools Me. All Is Silent, Save The Faint And Interrupted Murmur Of The Bee, Settling On The Sick Flowers, And Then Again Instantly On The Wing.

There Is No Glory In Star Or Blossom Till Looked Upon By A Loving Eye; There Is No Fragrance In April Breezes Till Breathed With Joy As They Wander By.

Gently - So Have Good Men Taught - Gently, And Without Grief, The Old Shall Glide Into The New; The Eternal Flow Of Things, Like A Bright River Of The Fields Of Heaven, Shall Journey Onward In Perpetual Peace.

I Hear The Howl Of The Wind That Brings The Long Drear Storm On Its Heavy Wings.

Ah! Never Shall The Land Forget How Gushed The Life-blood Of Her Brave -