The Dove, On Silver Pinions,

Here Hyacinths Of Heavenly Blue, Shook Their Rich Tresses To The Morn.

Beyond This Vale Of Tears There Is A Life Above. Unmeasured By The Flight Of Years; And All That Life Is Love.

Dark-green And Gemm'd With Flowers Of Snow, With Close Uncrowded Branches Spread Not Proudly High, Nor Meanly Low, A Graceful Myrtle Rear'd Its Head.

Eagle Of Flowers! I See Thee Stand, And On The Sun's Noon-glory Gaze; With Eye Like His, Thy Lids Expand, And Fringe Their Disk With Golden Rays: Though Fix'd On Earth, In Darkness Rooted There, Light Is Thy Element, Thy Dwelling Air, Thy Prospect Heaven.

Tis Human Actions Paint The Chart Of Time.