Let Bygones Be Bygones.

For I Am Bound With Fleshly Bands, Joy, Beauty, Lie Beyond My Scope; I Strain My Heart, I Stretch My Hands, And Catch At Hope.

The Violets Whisper From The Shade Which Their Own Leaves Have Made: Men Scent Our Fragrance On The Air, Yet Take No Heed Of Humble Lessons We Would Read.

Be The Green Grass Above Me, With Showers And Dewdrops Wet; And If Thou Wilt, Remember, And If Thou Wilt, Forget.

What Can I Give Him, Poor As I Am? If I Were A Shepherd I Would Bring A Lamb. If I Were A Wise Man I Would Do My Part. Yet What Can I Give Him? I Give Him My Heart.

It Is Not The Deed We Do Though The Deed Be Never So Fair, But The Love That The Dear Lord Looketh For, Hidden With Lovely Care In The Heart Of The Deed So Fair.