The sunrise wakes the lark to sing, The moonrise wakes the nightingale. Come, darkness, moonrise, everything That is so silent, sweet, and pale: Come, so ye wake the nightingale.

O happy skylark springing Up to the broad, blue sky, Too fearless in thy winging, Too gladsome in thy singing, Thou also soon shalt lie Where no sweet notes are ringing.

We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.

Spring bursts to-day, For Christ is risen and all the earth's at play.

One by one the flowers close, Lily and dewy rose Shutting their tender petals from the moon.

A sister is one who reaches for your hand and touches your heart.