The Dove, On Silver Pinions, Winged Her

While Rose-buds Scarcely Show'd Their Hue, But Coyly Linger'd On The Thorn.

There Is A Flower, A Little Flower With Silver Crest And Golden Eye, That Welcomes Every Changing Hour, And Weathers Every Sky.

The Tulip's Petals Shine In Dew, All Beautiful, But None Alike.

To-morrow — Oh, 'twill Never Be, If We Should Live A Thousand Years! Our Time Is All To-day, To-day, The Same, Though Changed; And While It Flies With Still Small Voice The Moments Say: "to-day, To-day, Be Wise, Be Wise.

Gashed With Honourable Scars,low In Glory's Lap They Lie;though They Fell, They Fell Like Stars,streaming Splendour Through The Sky.