Not All The Labour Of The Earth

Not All The Labour Of The Earth Is Done By Hardened Hands.

Thanksgiving-day, I Fear, If One The Solemn Truth Must Touch, Is Celebrated, Not So Much To Thank The Lord For Blessing O'er, As For The Sake Of Getting More!

We Thank Thee, O Father Of All, For... All The Soul-help That Sad Souls Understand.

Cover Them Over With Beautiful Flowers, Deck Them With Garlands, Those Brothers Of Ours, Lying So Silent By Night And By Day Sleeping The Years Of Their Manhood Away. Give Them The Meed They Have Won In The Past; Give Them The Honors Their Future Forcast; Give Them The Chaplets They Won In The Strife; Give Them The Laurels They Lost With Their Life.

To Appreciate Heaven Well, It's Good For A Person To Have Some Fifteen Minutes Of Hell.