Beauty Is A Fading Flower,truth

Beauty Is A Fading Flower,truth Is But A Wizard's Tower,where A Solemn Death-bell Tolls,and A Forest Round It Rolls.

Happy, Happy, Happy For All That God Hath Done, Glad Of All The Little Leaves Dancing In The Sun.

If Ever I Had Any Doubts About The Fundamental Realities Of Religion, They Could Always Be Dispelled By One Memory- The Light Upon My Father's Face As He Came Back From Early Communion.

The Wind Was A Torrent Of Darkness Among The Gusty Trees, The Moon Was A Ghostly Galleon Tossed Upon Cloudy Seas, The Road Was A Ribbon Of Moonlight, Over The Purple Moor, And The Highwayman Came Riding-- Riding--riding-- The Highwayman Came Riding, Up To The Old Inn-door.

I'll Come To Thee By Moonlight, Though Hell Should Bar The Way.