When Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil. - Reginald Heber

Beneath our feet and o'er our head Is equal warning given: Beneath us lie the countless dead, Above us is the heaven! Death rides on every passing breeze, And lurks in every flower; Each season has its own disease, Its peril every hour.

Failed the bright promise of your early day?

Remember that every guilty compliance with the humors of the world, every sinful indulgence of our own passions, is laying up cares and fears for the hour of darkness; and that the remembrance of ill-spent time will strew our sick-bed with thorns, and rack our sinking spirits with despair.