Love Is Like A Rose, The Joy

Consider The Lilies Of The Field Whose Bloom Is Brief:-- We Are As They; Like Them We Fade Away As Doth A Leaf.

It Is Not The Deed We Do Though The Deed Be Never So Fair, But The Love That The Dear Lord Looketh For, Hidden With Lovely Care In The Heart Of The Deed So Fair.

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.

Be The Green Grass Above Me, With Showers And Dewdrops Wet; And If Thou Wilt, Remember, And If Thou Wilt, Forget.

Does The Road Wind Up-hill All The Way? Yes, To The Very End.