Yet Nightly Pitch My Moving

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.

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

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

Joys Too Exquisite To Last, And Yet More Exquisite When Past.

Hymns Should Have Unity, Graduation And Mutual Dependence In The Thoughts, A Conscious Progress, A Sense Of Completeness And Be Easily Understood.