His daily prayer, far better understood in acts than in words, was simply doing good

Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.

For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.

For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.

Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play!

With silence only as their benediction, God's angels come Where in the shadow of a great affliction, The soul sits dumb!