Looking upon the Eucharist that clips our heart.
The sole journey to the promise Land of thought,
Not as that which ended up in forty years.
But the one that has brought sorrow in laughter to our face. ...
Suppose, my dear, that you were I
And by your side your sweetheart sate;
Suppose you noticed by and by
The distance 'twixt you were too great;
Now tell me, dear, what would you do?
I know-and so do you.