"Will you walk into my parlour?" said a spider to a fly

Buttercups and Daisies— Oh, the pretty flowers, Coming ere the spring time, To tell of sunny hours.

Yes, in the poor man's garden grow Far more than herbs and flowers— Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind, And joy for weary hours.

Old England is our home, and Englishmen are we; Our tongue is known in every clime, our flag in every sea.

The wild sea roars and lashes the granite cliffs below, And round the misty islets the loud strong tempests blow.

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.

So All is diff’rent, and yet All is One.