The Trivial Round, The Common Task,would Furnish

Peace Is The First Thing The Angels Sang.

The Voice That Breathed O'er Eden, That Earliest Wedding Day.

Sweet Is The Infant's Waking Smile, And Sweet The Old Man's Rest-- But Middle Age By No Fond Wile, No Soothing Calm Is Blest.

The Deeds We Do, The Words We Say,into Still Air They Seem To Fleet;we Count Them Ever Past;but They Shall Last -in The Dread Judgment Theyand We Shall Meet.

Sun Of My Soul! Thou Saviour Dear, It Is Not Night If Thou Be Near.