Fortune Comes Well To All That Comes

For Bells Are The Voice Of The Church; They Have Tones That Touch And Search The Hearts Of Young And Old.

Peace! And No Longer From Its Brazen Portals The Blast Of War's Great Organ Shakes The Skies! But Beautiful As Songs Of The Immortals, The Holy Melodies Of Love Arise.

With Useless Endeavour Forever, Forever, Is Sisyphus Rolling His Stone Up The Mountain!

The Warriors That Fought For Their Country, And Bled, Have Sunk To Their Rest; The Damp Earth Is Their Bed; No Stone Tells The Place Where Their Ashes Repose, Nor Points Out The Spot From The Graves Of Their Foes. They Died In Their Glory, Surrounded By Fame, And Victory's Loud Trump Their Death Did Proclaim; They Are Dead; But They Live In Each Patriot's Breast, And Their Names Are Engraven On Honor's Bright Crest.

Does Not All The Blood Within Me Leap To Meet Thee, Leap To Meet Thee, As The Springs To Meet The Sunshine.