Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, Make me a child again just for tonight

Carve not upon a stone when I am dead, The praises which remorseful mourners give; To women's graves - a tardy recompense, But speak them while I live

Blush, happy maiden, when you feel The lips which press love's glowing seal; But as the slow years darklier roll, Grown wiser, the experienced soul Will own as dearer far than they The lips which kiss the tears away.

Behold, we live through all things,--famine, thirst, Bereavement, pain; all grief and misery, All woe and sorrow; life inflicts its worst On soul and body,--but we cannot die, Though we be sick, and tired, and faint, and worn,-- Lo, all things can be borne!

They needed some breathers. We didn't want to do it at that particular time, but there were still about five minutes left.

We just had a hard time keeping them off the offensive boards.