Oh To Have A Lodge In Some

Come, Evening, Once Again, Season Of Peace; Return, Sweet Evening, And Continue Long! Methinks I See Thee In The Streaky West, With Matron Step, Slow Moving, While The Night Treads On Thy Sweeping Train; One Hand Employ'd In Letting Fall The Curtain Of Repose On Bird And Beast, The Other Charged For Man With Sweet Oblivion Of The Cares Of Day.

Our Love Is Principle, And Has Its Root In Reason, Is Judicious, Manly, Free.

Restraining Prayer, We Cease To Fight; Prayer Keeps The Christian's Armor Bright; And Satan Trembles When He Sees The Weakest Saint Upon His Knees.

The Cares Of Today Are Seldom Those Of Tomorrow.

Ever Let The Fancy Roam, Pleasure Never Is At Home.