Waiting, waiting, only waiting, but the waiting is a prayer.
MEMORIAL POEM.
Written by request, and read at Memorial Evening Services, 1898.
Sweet is the breath of the springtime, when the sound of the bugle is heard,
Its soul thrilling pæans swift echo the clear ringing notes of a bird;
And bright is the face of the hillside for summer's own coming arrayed,
The voice of the singer must falter, the beautiful flowers must fade.
Precious and far more enduring than the blessings kind nature bestows