Once, in the flight of ages past, There lived a man. - James Montgomery

Joys too exquisite to last,
And yet more exquisite when past.

Night is the time to weep,
To wet with unseen tears
Those graves of memory where sleep
The joys of other years.

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,
Uttered or unexpressed,—
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.