We Frolic While 'tis May.

The Curfew Tolls The Knell Of Parting Day, The Lowing Herd Winds Slowly O'er The Lea, The Ploughman Homeward Plods His Weary Way, And Leaves The World To Darkness And To Me.

The Still Small Voice Of Gratitude.

Gay Hope Is Theirs By Fancy Fed, Less Pleasing When Possest; The Tear Forgot As Soon As Shed, The Sunshine Of The Breast.

And Weep The More, Because I Weep In Vain.

There Are Certain Scenes That Would Awe An Atheist Into Belief, Without The Help Of Other Argument.