We are marching toward that city, in the great trend of mind. We see our friends gathering from over the ranges, stepping by the hours of time. We are ascending the heights from the rivers, Lord plant our feet in thy Zion. In the spirit in which we are calling, so shall the answer be. Each deed and day shall be answered, as our souls cry to thee. We are moving in the light of your spirit; Lord, plant our feet in thy Zion. Lord, let us pay for our ways, in the days of our time. For unto life we shall gather from over the ranges, proven by the powers of mind. Let us ascend the heights from the rivers; Lord, plant our feet in thy Zion. Soon our sorrows are ended, soon our woes shall cease. Our days for us shall be brighter on through the ages, ascending the hills of peace. Lord, shall we arise beyond these sorrows? Lord, plant our feet in thy Zion. * * * * * A Praise--Speed Some one is watching at the windows tonight, as onward through the valleys and over the rocks of white, the gleaming wheels they speed with might; calling the stars at the approach of night; concealing them away with the speed of light. I do not know what my title holds, because the way has been long; through the orchards and by the waste lands swifter than the shadows of the dawn. But the angel who watches through the train of time hurries all on board along. The shadows of the evening that enclose upon the fleeting sunlight are swiftly turned away; as out of the night time the speeding wheels they sway, before the gloom that's left approaching into the light of day. Music rings above the hill tops, from the canyons that we passed by; while sweeping beneath the light of heaven, that beckons from the windows in the sky. Soon within the harbor the speeding monitor shall lie; then shall be the answer to the soul which shall never die. * * * * * A Praise--Reason Here lie the brave and valiant-hearted, strewn by the pathway of the noble race. These are our kindred whose souls linger near their dwelling place. Here lie the stars which have fallen, from the altar of the race. Their light still on our memories gleam, bright before our face. These are of our people, their souls are still upon the breeze. Death cannot them destroy, or blot out their secret memories. Some of them were old and faded, and others were of the age of the bloom, That grows upon the lilies, and fades before the rays of noon. But out in the mist they are waiting to greet us, and we shall welcome them once more. Beneath the sun that shines in stillness, upon this living shore. The battlements are faded, and the swords are laid aside, And he has come with his saints to reign through the ages, over the human tide. A Meditation--Life