I Wonder What The Vintners

The Flower That Once Has Blown Forever Dies.

Why, All The Saints And Sages Who Discuss'd Of The Two Worlds So Wisely - They Are Thrust Like Foolish Prophets Forth; Their Words To Scorn Are Scattered, And Their Mouths Are Stopped With Dust.

When I Want To Understand What Is Happening Today Or Try To Decide What Will Happen Tomorrow, I Look Back.

Don't Cry Upon You Losses Don't Mesure Today With Tommorows Don't Trust To Passed And Coming Day Believe In Now - And Be Happy Today.

This Body Is A Tent Which For A Space Does The Pure Soul With Kingly Presence Grace; When He Departs, Comes The Tent-pitcher, Death, Strikes It, And Moves To A New Halting-place.