'IHIIflilMlliynilulUllllMUMtUMll 
 
 h? 
 
 
Class 
 Book 
 
 fiB»< rfS» / 1 / 
 
 Copyright}! 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
POEMS OF THE 
 HEART 
 
 Selected and Arranged 
 
 ly 
 RICHARD BROOKS 
 
 EDITOR OF 
 
 ••HELPS TO HAPPINESS" 
 "OLD FRIENDS ARE BEST" 
 "FRIENDSHIP'S JOYS BE YOURS" 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Dodge Publishing Company 
 
 214-220 EAST 23d STREET 
 
Copyright, 1913, by 
 Dodge Publishing Company 
 
 
 .A357436 
 
TRUE FRIENDSHIP 
 
 NEVER crossed your thresh- 
 old with a grief 
 But that I went without it ; 
 
 never came 
 Heart hungry but you fed me, 
 eased the blame, 
 And gave the sorrow solace and relief. 
 I never left you but I took away 
 The love that drew me to your side again, 
 Through the wide door that never could 
 
 remain 
 Quite closed between us for a little day. 
 
 [5] 
 
 jtM 
 
TRUE LOVE 
 
 ET me not to the marriage of 
 true minds 
 Admit impediments. Love is 
 
 not love 
 Which alters when it altera- 
 tion finds, 
 Or bends with the remover to remove : — 
 
 no ! it is an ever fixM mark 
 
 That looks on tempests, and is never 
 
 shaken ; 
 It is the star to every wandering bark, 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his 
 
 height be taken. 
 
 Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips 
 
 and cheeks 
 Within his bending sickle's compass 
 
 come ; 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and 
 
 weeks, 
 But bears it out ev'n to the edge of 
 
 doom : — 
 
 If this be error, and upon me proved, 
 
 1 never writ, nor no man ever loved. 
 
 — William Shakespeare. 
 
LUCY 
 
 HE dwelt among the untrod- 
 den ways 
 Beside the springs of Dove ; 
 A maid whom there were 
 none to praise, 
 And very few to love. 
 
 A violet by a mossy stone 
 
 Half-hidden from the eye ! 
 — Fair as a star, when only one 
 
 Is shining in the sky. 
 
 She lived unknown, and few could know 
 
 When Lucy ceased to be ; 
 But she is in her grave, and, oh, 
 
 The difference to me ! 
 
 — William Wordsworth. 
 
 t7] 
 
 ____^____ 
 
OMNIA VINCIT 
 
 AIN would I change that note 
 To which fond Love hath 
 
 charm'd me 
 Long long to sing by rote, 
 Fancying that that harm'd 
 me : 
 Yet when this thought doth come 
 " Love is the perfect sum 
 
 Of all delight," 
 I have no other choice 
 Either for pen or voice 
 To sing or write. 
 
 Love ! they wrong thee much 
 That say thy sweet is bitter, 
 When thy rich fruit is such 
 As nothing can be sweeter. 
 Fair house of joy and bliss, 
 Where truest pleasure is, 
 
 I do adore thee : 
 
 1 know thee what thou art, 
 I serve thee with my heart, 
 
 And fall before thee ! 
 
 [8] 
 
 i 
 
A WELL OF LOVE 
 
 ETTER to sit at the water's 
 
 birth 
 Than a sea of waves to win, 
 To live in the love that floweth 
 forth 
 
 Than the love that floweth in. 
 Be thy heart a well of love, my child, 
 Flowing and free and sure, 
 For a cistern of love, though undefiled, 
 Keeps not the spirit pure. 
 
 — George MacDonald. 
 
 [9] 
 
MY LOVE 
 
 'OT as all other women are 
 Is she that to my soul is dear ; 
 Her glorious fancies come from 
 
 far, 
 Beneath the silver evening 
 star, 
 And yet her heart is ever near. 
 
 n 
 
 Great feelings hath she of her own, 
 Which lesser souls may never know ; 
 God giveth them to her alone, 
 And sweet they are as any tone 
 Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. 
 
 in 
 
 Yet in herself she dwelleth not, 
 Although no home were half so fair ; 
 No simplest duty is forgot, 
 Life hath no dim or lowly spot 
 That doth not in her sunshine share. 
 
 [10] 
 
 
IV 
 
 She doeth little kindnesses, 
 
 Which most leave undone, or despise : 
 
 For naught that sets one heart at ease, 
 
 And giveth happiness or peace, 
 
 Is low-esteemed in her eyes. 
 
 She hath no scorn of common things, 
 And, though she seem of other birth, 
 Round us her heart entwines and clings, 
 And patiently she folds her wings 
 To tread the humble paths of earth. 
 
 VI 
 
 Blessing she is : God made her so, 
 And deeds of week-day holiness 
 Fall from her noiseless as the snow, 
 Nor hath she ever chanced to know 
 That aught were easier than to bless. 
 
 VII 
 
 She is most fair, and thereunto 
 Her life doth rightly harmonize ; 
 Feeling or thought that was not true 
 Ne'er made less beautiful the blue 
 Unclouded heaven of her eyes. 
 
VIII 
 
 She is a woman : one in whom 
 The spring-time of her childish years 
 Hath never lost its fresh perfume, 
 Though knowing well that life hath room 
 For many blights and many tears. 
 
 IX 
 
 I love her with a love as still 
 As a broad river's peaceful might, 
 Which, by high tower and lowly mill, 
 Goes wandering at its own will, 
 And yet doth ever flow aright. 
 
 And on its full, deep breast serene, 
 Like quiet isles my duties lie ; 
 It flows around them and between, 
 And makes them fresh and fair and green, 
 Sweet homes wherein to live and die. 
 
 — James Russell Lowell. 
 
 [12] 
 
THE " OLD, OLD SONG " 
 
 HEN all the world is young, 
 lad, 
 And all the trees are green ; 
 And every goose a swan, lad, 
 And every lass a queen ; 
 Then hey for boot and horse, lad, 
 
 And round the world away ; 
 Young blood must have its course, lad, 
 And every dog his day. 
 
 When all the world is old, lad, 
 
 And all the trees are brown ; 
 And all the sport is stale, lad, 
 
 And all the wheels run down ; 
 Creep home, and take your place there, 
 
 The spent and maim'd among ; 
 God grant you find one face there 
 
 You loved when all was young. 
 
 — Charles King sky. 
 
 [13] 
 
A MAIDEN 
 
 HE is not fair to outward view 
 As many maidens be ; 
 Her loveliness I never knew 
 
 Until she smiled on me. 
 then I saw her eye was 
 bright, 
 A well of love, a spring of light. 
 
 But now her looks are coy and cold, 
 
 To mine they ne'er reply, 
 And yet I cease not to behold 
 
 The love-light in her eye : 
 Her very frowns are fairer far 
 Than smiles of other maidens are. 
 
 — Hartley Coleridge. 
 
 [H] 
 
TRUE LOVE 
 
 THINK true love is never 
 
 blind, 
 
 But rather brings an added 
 
 light ; 
 
 An inner vision quick to find 
 
 The beauties hid from common sight. 
 
 No soul can ever clearly see 
 Another's highest, noblest part ; 
 
 Save through the sweet philosophy 
 And loving wisdom of the heart. 
 
 — Phoebe Cary. 
 
 [15] 
 
 
^^™ 
 
 A DITTY 
 
 Y true-love hath my heart, and 
 I have his, 
 By just exchange one for an- 
 other given : 
 I hold his dear, and mine he 
 cannot miss, 
 There never was a better bargain driven : 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I 
 have his. 
 
 His heart in me keeps him and me in one, 
 My heart in him his thoughts and senses 
 
 guides : 
 He loves my heart, for once it was his 
 
 own, 
 I cherish his because in me it bides : 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I 
 have his. 
 
 — Philip Sidney. 
 
 [16] 
 
BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE EN- 
 DEARING YOUNG CHARMS 
 
 JELIEVE me, if all those en- 
 dearing young charms, 
 Which I gaze on so fondly 
 
 to-day, 
 Were to change by to-morrow, 
 and fleet in my arms, 
 Like fairy gifts fading away, 
 Thou wouldst still be adored, as this mo- 
 ment thou art, 
 Let thy loveliness fade as it will, 
 And around the dear ruin each wish of 
 my heart 
 Would entwine itself verdantly still. 
 
 It is not while beauty and youth are 
 thine own, 
 And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, 
 That the fervor and faith of a soul can be 
 known, 
 To which time will but make thee 
 more dear. 
 
 [17] 
 
No, the heart that has truly loved never 
 forgets, 
 
 But as truly loves on to the close, 
 As the sunflower turns on her god, when 
 he sets, 
 The same look which she turned when 
 he rose. 
 
 — Thomas Moore. 
 
 [18] 
 
SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE 
 
 'HEN our two souls stand up 
 erect and strong, 
 Face to face, silent, drawing 
 
 nigh and nigher, 
 Until the lengthening wings 
 break into fire 
 At either curved point, — what bitter 
 
 wrong 
 Can the earth do to us, that we should 
 not long 
 Be here contented? Think. In mount- 
 ing higher, 
 The angels would press on us and 
 aspire 
 To drop some golden orb of perfect song 
 Into our deep, dear silence. Let us 
 stay 
 Rather on earth, Beloved, — where the 
 unfit 
 Contrarious moods of men recoil away 
 And isolate pure spirits, and permit 
 
 A place to stand and love in for a day, 
 With darkness and the death-hour round- 
 ing it. 
 
 [19] 
 
 . 
 
How do I love thee ? Let me count the 
 ways. 
 I love thee to the depth and breadth 
 
 and height 
 My soul can reach, when feeling out 
 of sight 
 For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. 
 I love thee to the level of every day's 
 Most quiet need, by sun and candle- 
 light. 
 I love thee freely, as men strive for 
 Right ; 
 I love thee purely, as they turn from 
 
 Praise. 
 I love thee with the passion put to use 
 In my old griefs, and with my child- 
 hood's faith. 
 I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
 With my lost saints, — I love thee with 
 the breath, 
 Smiles, tears, of all my life ! — and, if God 
 choose, 
 I shall but love thee better after death. 
 — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 [20] 
 
A SPRIG OF HEATHER 
 
 UST a sprig of Scottish heather, 
 in a letter where the tears, 
 Which have blotted words to- 
 gether, have been dried 
 these many years. 
 Loving lines, yet sadly cheerful, — how 
 
 " 'twas lonesome here to-day," 
 Then a pause, a little tearful, " Dear, you 
 are so far away ! " 
 
 \ 
 
 Every sentence has its token of a love 
 
 that could not fail 
 Throbbing with a faith unspoken, though 
 
 the ink is growing pale ; 
 Faded are the lines dim-lettered like sad 
 
 ghosts upon the page ; 
 Ah, that poor love should be fettered with 
 
 the rusty iron of age ! 
 
 Then that line, " I picked the heather 
 from that spot, dear, you will know, 
 
 Where we walked and talked together, — 
 oh, it seems so long ago ! " 
 
 [21] 
 
And at last, " Love, how much better it 
 will be when, by-and-by, 
 
 We'll not need to write a letter to each 
 other, you and I ! " 
 
 God! with what another meaning that 
 
 one line has long been true, 
 With Death's silence intervening since I 
 
 last have heard from you, 
 When you dropped Life's weary fetters, 
 
 when you went so far away, — 
 Thought you of unwritten letters I was 
 
 missing from that day ? 
 
 If you know how I have needed some new 
 
 token through the years 
 You have slept away unheeded, it must 
 
 move your soul to tears. 
 If you still know how I love you, how 
 
 I've missed you day by day, 
 Since the heather grew above you, you 
 
 could never stay away. 
 
 Take all treasures, Time, I cherish, Fame 
 and Hope and Life at last, 
 
 Flitting things which needs must perish, 
 — spare this memory of the Past. 
 
 [22] 
 
 .JWa 
 
Lying with a sprig of heather, in a letter 
 
 where the tears, 
 Which have blotted words together, have 
 
 been dried these many years. 
 
 — Marion Manville. 
 
 [23] 
 
THE BROOK-SIDE 
 
 WANDER'D by the brook- 
 side, 
 
 I wander'd by the mill, — 
 
 I could not hear the brook 
 flow, 
 
 The noisy wheel was still ; 
 There was no burr of grasshopper, 
 Nor chirp of any bird, 
 But the beating of my own heart 
 Was all the sound I heard. 
 
 I sat beneath the elm-tree, 
 
 I watch'd the long, long shade, 
 
 And as it grew still longer, 
 
 I did not feel afraid ; 
 
 For I listened for a footfall, 
 
 I listened for a word, — 
 
 But the beating of my own heart 
 
 Was all the sound I heard. 
 
 [24] 
 
 •4gjl|U- 
 
 wt 
 
He came not, — no, he came not, — 
 The night came on alone, — 
 The little stars sat, one by one, 
 Each on his golden throne ; 
 The evening air pass'd by my cheek, 
 The leaves above were stirr'd, — 
 But the beating of my own heart 
 Was all the sound I heard. 
 
 Fast silent tears were flowing, 
 When something stood behind, — 
 A hand was on my shoulder, 
 I knew its touch was kind : 
 It drew me nearer — nearer, — 
 We did not speak one word, 
 For the beating of our own hearts 
 Was all the sound I heard. 
 
 — Richard Monckton Milnes 
 (Lord Houghton), 
 
 [25] 
 
DOLCINO TO MARGARET 
 
 HE world goes up and the 
 
 world goes down, 
 And the sunshine follows the 
 
 rain; 
 And yesterday's sneer and 
 yesterday's frown 
 Can never come over again, 
 
 Sweet wife ; 
 No, never come over again. 
 
 For woman is warm though man be cold, 
 
 And the night will hallow the day ; 
 Till the heart which at even was weary 
 and old 
 Can rise in the morning gay, 
 
 Sweet wife ; 
 To its work in the morning gay. 
 
 — Charles Kingsley. 
 
 [26] 
 
 MB 
 
SONNET 
 
 IRST time he kissed me, he 
 but only kissed 
 The fingers of this hand where- 
 with I write, 
 And ever since it grew more 
 clean and white. . . . 
 Slow to world-greetings . . . quick with 
 
 its " Oh, list ! " 
 When the angels speak. A ring of 
 
 amethyst 
 I could not wear here plainer to my sight, 
 Than that first kiss. The second passed 
 
 in height 
 The first, and sought the forehead, and 
 
 half missed, 
 Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed ! 
 That was the chrism of love, which love's 
 
 own crown, 
 With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. 
 The third, upon my lips, was folded down 
 In perfect purple state ! since when, in- 
 deed, 
 I have been proud, and said, " My love, 
 my own." 
 
 — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 [27] 
 
THY VOICE IS NEAR ME 
 
 HY 
 
 voice is near me in my 
 dreams ; 
 In accents sweet and low, 
 Telling of happiness and love 
 In days long, long ago. 
 
 Word after word I think I hear, 
 
 Yet strange it seems to me 
 That, though I listen to thy voice, 
 
 Thy face I never see. 
 
 From night to night my weary heart 
 Lives on the treasured past, 
 
 And ev'ry day I fondly say, 
 He'll come to me at last. 
 
 Yet still I weep, and watch, and pray, 
 
 As time rolls slowly on ; 
 And yet I have no hope but thee, 
 
 Thou first, thou dearest one. 
 
 — M. Lindsay. 
 
 ■ in 
 
LOVE 
 
 ETTER to have the love of one 
 Than smiles like morning 
 
 dew; 
 Better to have a living seed 
 Than flowers of every hue. 
 
 Better to feel a love within 
 Than be lovely to the sight ; 
 Better a homely tenderness 
 Than beauty's wild delight. 
 
 Better to love than be beloved, 
 Though lonely all the day ; 
 Better the fountain in the heart 
 Than the fountain by the way. 
 
 Better the thanks of one dear heart 
 Than a nation's voice of praise ; 
 Better the twilight ere the dawn 
 Than yesterday's mid-blaze. 
 
 — Leigh Hunt 
 
 [29] 
 
GOD KEEP YOU SAFE 
 
 OD keep you safe, my love, 
 All through the night ; 
 Rest close in His encircled 
 arms 
 Until the light. 
 My heart is with you as I kneel to pray, 
 Good-night ! God keep you in His care 
 alway. 
 
 Thick shadows creep like silent ghosts 
 
 About my head ; 
 I lose myself in tender dreams, 
 
 While overhead 
 The moon comes stealing through the 
 window bars, 
 
 A silver sickle gleaming 'mid the stars. 
 
 For I, though I am far away, 
 
 Feel safe and strong 
 To trust you thus, dear love — and yet — 
 
 The night is long. 
 I say with sobbing breath the fond, old 
 prayer : 
 Good-night, sweet dreams, God keep 
 you everywhere. 
 
 — Mary Higman. 
 
 [3o] 
 
 MM 
 
 mfimi 
 
FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT 
 
 S there, for honest poverty, 
 That hangs his head, and 
 a' that? 
 The coward-slave, we pass 
 him by, 
 We dare be poor, for a' that ! 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Our toils obscure, an* a' that, 
 The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
 The man's the gowd for a' that. 
 
 What though on hamely fare we dine 
 
 Wear hoddin gray, and a' that? 
 Gi'e fools their silks, and knaves their 
 wine, 
 
 A man's a man for a' that ; 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
 The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 
 
 Is king o' men for a' that. 
 
 Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 
 
 Wha struts, and stares, and a* that ; 
 
 Though hundreds worship at his word, 
 He's but a coof for a' that ; 
 
 [3i] 
 
 _ 
 
For a* that, and a' that, 
 
 His ribbon, star, and a' that, 
 
 The man of independent mind, 
 He looks an' laughs at a 7 that. 
 
 A king can mak a belted knight, 
 
 A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
 But an honest man's aboon his might, 
 
 Quid faith he mauna fa* that. 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Their dignities, an' a* that, 
 The pith o' sense and pride o' worth 
 
 Are higher ranks than a' that. 
 
 Then let us pray that come it may, 
 
 As come it will for a' that, 
 That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
 
 Should bear the gree, and a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 It's coming yet, for a' that, 
 When man to man, the world o'er, 
 
 Shall brothers be for a' that. 
 
 —Robert Burns, 
 
 [32] 
 
 ■riHI 
 
A SONNET 
 
 HY love shall chant its own 
 beatitudes 
 After its own self- working. A 
 
 child's kiss 
 Set on the sighing lips shall 
 make thee glad, 
 A poor man served by thee shall make 
 
 thee rich, 
 A sick man helped by thee shall make 
 
 thee strong ; 
 Thou shalt be served thyself by every 
 
 sense 
 Of service which thou renderest. 
 
 — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 [33] 
 
 ... — 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 To Asolando 
 
 T the midnight in the silence 
 of the sleep-time, 
 When you set your fancies 
 free, 
 Will they pass to where — by 
 death, fools think, im- 
 prison^ — 
 Low he lies who once so loved you, whom 
 you loved so, 
 
 —Pity me? 
 
 Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mis- 
 taken ! 
 What had I on earth to do 
 With the slothful, with the mawkish, the 
 
 unmanly ? 
 Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I 
 drivel 
 
 — Being — who ? 
 
 /* 
 
 [34] 
 
One who never turn'd his back but 
 march'd breast forward, 
 Never doubted clouds would break, 
 Never dream'd, though right were worsted, 
 
 wrong would triumph, 
 Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight 
 better, 
 
 Sleep to wake. 
 
 \ 
 
 No, at noonday in the bustle of man's 
 work-time 
 Greet the unseen with a cheer ! 
 Bid him forward, breast and back as 
 
 either should be, 
 " Strive and thrive ! " cry " Speed, — fight 
 on, fare ever 
 
 There as here ! " 
 
 — Robert Browning. 
 
 [35] 
 
 , 
 
TO CELIA 
 
 jRINK to me only with thine 
 eyes, 
 And I will pledge with mine ; 
 Or leave a kiss but in the cup 
 And I'll not look for wine. 
 The thirst that from the soul doth rise 
 
 Doth ask a drink divine ; 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
 I would not change for thine. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 
 Not so much honoring thee 
 As giving it a hope that there 
 
 It could not wither'd be ; 
 But thou thereon didst only breathe 
 
 And sent'st it back to me ; 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I 
 swear, 
 
 Not of itself but thee ! 
 
 — Ben Jonson. 
 
 [36] 
 
 itnr 
 
THOU LING'RING STAR 
 
 'HOU ling'ring star, with less'- 
 ning ray, 
 That lov'st to greet the early 
 morn, 
 Again thou usherest in the 
 day 
 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his 
 breast? 
 
 That sacred hour can I forget ? 
 
 Can I forget that hallowed grove, 
 Where by the winding Ayr we met, 
 
 To live one day of parting love ! 
 Eternity cannot efface 
 
 Those records dear of transports past ; 
 Thine image at our last embrace — 
 
 Ah, little thought we 'twas our last ! 
 
 [37] 
 
Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning 
 green ; 
 The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 
 
 Twined am'rous round the raptured 
 scene ; 
 The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 
 
 The birds sang love on ev'ry spray — 
 Till soon, too soon, the glowing west 
 
 Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 
 
 Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, 
 
 And fondly broods with miser care ; 
 Time but th' impression stronger makes, 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. 
 My Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his 
 breast ? 
 
 — Robert Burns. 
 
 [38] 
 
TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND 
 HIM ANYTHING 
 
 ID me to live, and I will live 
 Thy Protestant to be : 
 Or bid me love, and I will 
 give 
 A loving heart to thee. 
 
 A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 
 
 A heart as sound and free 
 As in the whole world thou canst find, 
 
 That heart I'll give to thee. 
 
 Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, 
 
 To honor thy decree : 
 Or bid it languish quite away, 
 
 And't shall do so for thee. 
 
 Bid me to weep, and I will weep 
 
 While I have eyes to see : 
 And having none, yet I will keep 
 
 A heart to weep for thee. 
 
 Bid me despair, and I'll despair, 
 
 Under that cypress tree : 
 Or bid me die, and I will dare 
 
 E'en Death, to die for thee. 
 
 [39] 
 
Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 
 
 The very eyes of me, 
 And hast command of every part, 
 
 To live and die for thee. 
 
 — Robert Herrick. 
 
 [40] 
 
 ■HMH 
 
YOU'LL LOVE ME— WONT YOU? 
 
 you remember when you 
 heard 
 My lips breathe love's first 
 faltering word ? 
 You do, sweet — don't you ? 
 When, having wandered all 
 the day, 
 Linked arm in arm I dared to say, 
 You'll love me — won't you ? 
 
 And when you blushed, and could not 
 
 speak, 
 I fondly kissed your glowing cheek ; 
 
 Did that affront you ? 
 Oh, surely not ; your eye exprest 
 No wrath, but said, perhaps in jest, 
 
 You'll love me — won't you ? 
 
 I'm sure my eyes replied, " I will ; " 
 And you believe that promise still ; 
 
 You do, sweet — don't you ? 
 Yes, yes, when age has made our eyes 
 Unfit for questions or replies, 
 
 You'll love me — won't you? 
 
 — Thomas Haynes Bayly. 
 
 [4i] 
 
 "tiiir^J" 
 
 — — — ^ 
 
WHERE LOVE IS 
 
 GOOD wife rose from her bed 
 
 one morn, 
 And thought, with a nervous 
 
 dread, 
 Of the piles of clothes to be 
 washed, and more 
 Than a dozen mouths to be fed. 
 There's the meals to get for the men in 
 the field ; 
 And the children to fix away 
 To school ; and the milk to be skimmed 
 and churned : 
 And all to be done this day. 
 
 It had rained in the night, and all the 
 wood 
 Was wet as it could be ; 
 There were puddings and pies to bake, 
 besides 
 A loaf of cake for tea. 
 
 [42] 
 
And the day was hot, and her aching 
 brow 
 
 Throbbed wearily as she said : 
 " If maidens but knew what good wives 
 know, 
 They would be in no haste to wed ! " 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 " Jennie, what do you think I told Ben 
 Brown ? " 
 
 Called the farmer from the well ; 
 And a flush crept up to his bronzed brow, 
 
 And his eyes half-bashfully fell. 
 " It was this," he said, and, coming near, 
 
 He smiled, and, stooping down, 
 Kissed her cheek — " Twas this : That 
 you were the best 
 
 And the dearest wife in town ! " 
 
 The farmer went back to the field, and 
 the wife, 
 
 In a smiling and absent way, 
 Sang snatches of tender little songs 
 
 She'd not sung for many a day. 
 
 [43] 
 
 B^ 
 
And the pain in her head was gone, and 
 the clothes 
 Were white as the foam of the sea ; 
 Her bread was light, and her butter was 
 sweet, 
 And as golden as it could be. 
 
 " Just think," the children all called in a 
 breath — 
 " Tom Wood has run off to sea ! 
 He wouldn't, we know, if he only had 
 had 
 As happy a home as we." 
 The night came down, and the good-wife 
 smiled 
 To herself, as she softly said : 
 " Tis so sweet to labor for those we love, 
 It's no wonder that maids will wed ! " 
 
 — Thomas Burnett. 
 
 [44] 
 
CRADLE SONG 
 
 WEET and low, sweet and low, 
 
 Wind of the western sea, 
 Low, low, breathe and blow, 
 Wind of the western sea ! 
 Over the rolling waters go, 
 Come from the dying moon, 
 and blow, 
 Blow him again to me : 
 While my little one, while my pretty one, 
 sleeps. 
 
 Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, 
 Father will come to thee soon : 
 
 Rest, rest, on mother's breast, 
 Father will come to thee soon ; 
 
 Father will come to his babe in the nest, 
 
 Silver sails all out of the west 
 Under the silver moon : 
 
 Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, 
 sleep. 
 
 — Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
 
 [45] 
 
A SONG OF THE HEART 
 
 F any little love of mine 
 May make a life the sweeter, 
 If any little care of mine 
 May make a friend's the 
 fleeter, 
 If any lift of mine may ease 
 The burden of another, 
 God give me love and care and 
 
 strength 
 To help my toiling brother. 
 
 [46] 
 
SYMPATHY 
 
 HEN hide it not, the music of 
 thy soul, 
 Dear sympathy expressed with 
 
 kindly voice, 
 But let it like a shining river 
 roll 
 
 To deserts dry — to hearts that would re- 
 joice. 
 Oh, let the symphony of kindly words 
 Sound for the poor, the friendless, and 
 
 the weak, 
 And He will bless you. He who struck 
 
 the chords 
 Will strike another when in turn you 
 seek. 
 
 [47] 
 
 / 
 
WESLEY'S RULE 
 
 O all the good you can, 
 By all the means you can, 
 In all the ways you can, 
 In all the places you can, 
 At all the times you can, 
 To all the people you can, 
 As long as ever you can. 
 
 [48] 
 
 m 
 
THE QUIET ROOM 
 
 'ND so I find it well to come 
 For deeper rest to this still 
 
 room ; 
 For here the habit of the soul 
 Feels less the outer world's 
 control. 
 
 And from the silence, multiplied 
 By these still forms on every side, 
 The world that time and sense has known 
 Falls off and leaves us God alone. 
 
 — John Greenleaf Whittiw. 
 
 [49] 
 
CHEER AND JOY BE THINE 
 
 ESIDE the home fire's cheer- 
 ful glow 
 May mirth and joy thy com- 
 rades be, 
 And even churlish winter 
 show 
 A smiling face to thee. 
 
 May life no gloomy side reveal, 
 But all this bright year through, 
 
 Good fortune spin her shining wheel 
 Eight merrily for you. 
 
 [50] 
 
j$S 
 
 THE CELESTIAL SURGEON 
 
 F I have faltered more or less 
 In my great task of happiness, 
 If I have moved among my 
 
 race 
 And shown no glorious morn- 
 ing face, 
 If beams from happy human eyes 
 Have moved me not, if morning skies, 
 Books, and my food, and summer rain 
 Knocked on my sullen heart in vain ; 
 Lord, Thy most pointed pleasure take 
 And stab my spirit broad awake. 
 
 — Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 
 [so 
 
A KINDLY DEED 
 
 KINDLY deed 
 
 Is a little seed, 
 
 That groweth all unseen ; 
 
 And lo, when none 
 
 Do look thereon, 
 
 Anew it springeth green. 
 
 [52] 
 
SONG 
 
 HEN I am dead, my dearest, 
 Sing no sad songs for me ; 
 Plant thou no roses at my 
 head, 
 Nor shady cypress tree : 
 Be the green grass above me 
 With showers and dewdrops wet ; 
 And if thou wilt, remember, 
 And if thou wilt, forget. 
 
 I shall not see the shadows, 
 
 I shall not feel the rain ; 
 I shall not hear the nightingale 
 
 Sing on, as if in pain : 
 And dreaming through the twilight 
 
 That doth not rise nor set, 
 Haply I may remember, 
 
 And haply may forget. 
 
 — Christina Georgina Rossetti. 
 
 [53] 
 
A LOVING WORD 
 
 AKE time to speak a loving 
 word 
 Where loving words are sel- 
 dom heard ; 
 And it will linger in the mind, 
 And gather others of its kind, 
 
 Till loving words will echo where 
 Erstwhile the heart was poor and bare ; 
 And somewhere on thy heavenward track 
 Their music will come echoing back. 
 
 [54] 
 
GOD BE WITH YOU 
 
 MY heart's heart and you who 
 
 are to me 
 More than myself myself, God 
 
 be with you, 
 Keep you in strong obedience, 
 leal and true 
 To him whose noble service setteth free, 
 Give you all good we see or can foresee, 
 Make your joys many and your sorrows 
 
 few, 
 Bless you in what you bear and what 
 you do. 
 Yea, perfect you as He would have you be. 
 So much for you; but what for me, 
 dear friend? 
 To love you without stint and all I can 
 To-day, to-morrow, world without an 
 
 end : 
 To love you much, and yet to love you 
 
 more, 
 As Jordan at its flood sweeps either 
 shore ; 
 Since woman is the helpmeet made for 
 man. 
 
 — Christina Georgina Rossetti. 
 
 [55] 
 
 J& 
 
A WORD OF CHEER 
 
 WOULD flood your path with 
 sunshine, I would fence 
 you from all ill, 
 [ would crown you with all 
 blessings if I could but 
 have my will. 
 Aye ! but human love may err, dear, and 
 
 a power all wise is near. 
 So I only pray, God bless you, and God 
 keep you through the year. 
 
 [56] 
 
STAY, STAY AT HOME 
 
 TAY, stay at home, my heart, 
 and rest ; 
 Home-keeping hearts are hap- 
 piest. 
 For those that wander they 
 know not where, 
 Are full of trouble, and full of care ; 
 To stay at home is best. 
 
 Weary and homesick and distressed, 
 They wander east, they wander west, 
 And are baffled and beaten and blown 
 
 about 
 By the winds of the wilderness of 
 doubt ; 
 To stay at home is best. 
 
 Then stay at home, my heart, and rest ; 
 The bird is safest in its nest ; 
 
 O'er all that flutter their wings and fly 
 A hawk is hovering in the sky ; 
 To stay at home is best. 
 
 — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 _ 
 
REST 
 
 EST is not quitting 
 The busy career : 
 Rest is the fitting 
 Of self to its sphere. 
 
 'Tis loving and serving 
 The highest and best : 
 'Tis onward, unswerving ! 
 And that is true rest. 
 
 — John Sullivan Dwight. 
 
 [58] 
 
RABBI BEN EZRA 
 
 ROW old along with me I 
 The best is yet to be, 
 The last of life, for which the 
 
 first was made : 
 Our times are in His hand 
 Who saith 'A whole I plann'd, 
 Youth shows but half; trust God : see all 
 nor be afraid ! ' 
 
 Not that, amassing flowers 
 
 Youth sigh'd l Which rose make ours, 
 Which lily leave and then as best recall ? ' 
 
 Not that, admiring stars, 
 
 It yearn'd ' Nor Jove, nor Mars ; 
 Mine be some figured flame which blends, 
 transcends them all ! ' 
 
 Not for such hopes and fears 
 
 Annulling youth's brief years, 
 Do I remonstrate : folly wide the mark I 
 
 Rather I prize the doubt 
 
 Low kinds exist without, 
 Finish'd and finite clods, untroubled by 
 a spark. 
 
 [59] 
 
 j©ii 
 
 mi 
 
Poor vaunt of life indeed, 
 
 Were man but formed to feed 
 On joy, to solely seek and find and feast : 
 
 Such feasting ended, then 
 
 As sure an end to men ; 
 Irks care the crop-full bird ? Frets doubt 
 the maw-cramm'd beast ? 
 
 Rejoice we are allied 
 
 To That which doth provide 
 And not partake, effect and not receive ! 
 
 A spark disturbs our clod ; 
 
 Nearer we hold of God 
 Who gives, than of His tribes that take, 
 I must believe. 
 
 Then, welcome each rebuff 
 That turns earth's smoothness rough, 
 Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand 
 but go ! 
 Be our joys three-parts pain ! 
 Strive, and hold cheap the strain ; 
 Learn, nor account the pang ; dare, never 
 grudge the throe ! 
 
 For thence, — a paradox 
 Which comforts while it mocks, — 
 Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail : 
 
 [60] 
 
 m 
 
 ■MH1H 
 
r^flUT 
 
 What I aspired to be, 
 And was not, comforts me : 
 A brute I might have been, but would 
 not sink i' the scale. 
 
 What is he but a brute 
 Whose flesh has soul to suit, 
 Whose spirit works lest arms and legs 
 want play ? 
 To man, propose this test — 
 Thy body at its best, 
 How far can that project thy soul on its 
 lone way ? 
 
 Yet gifts should prove their use : 
 
 I own the Past profuse 
 Of power each side, perfection every turn : 
 
 Eyes, ears took in their dole, 
 
 Brain treasured up the whole : 
 Should not the heart beat once * How 
 good to live and learn ? ' 
 
 Not once beat l Praise be Thine ! 
 
 I see the whole design, 
 I, who saw power, see now love perfect too : 
 
 Perfect I call Thy plan : 
 
 Thanks that I was a man ! 
 Maker, remake, complete, — I trust what 
 Thou shall do ! ' 
 
 [61] 
 
 __ ___ 
 
For pleasant is this flesh ; 
 Our soul, in its rose-mesh 
 Pull'd ever to the earth, still yearns for 
 rest; 
 Would we some prize might hold 
 To match those manifold 
 Possessions of the brute, — gain most, as 
 we did best I 
 
 Let us not always say 
 ' Spite of this flesh to-day 
 I strove, made head, gain'd ground upon 
 the whole I ' 
 As the bird wings and sings, 
 Let us cry ' All good things 
 Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, 
 than flesh helps soul ! ' 
 
 Therefore I summon age 
 To grant youth's heritage, 
 Life's struggle having so far reach'd its 
 term : 
 Thence shall I pass, approved 
 A man, for aye removed 
 From the develop'd brute ; a god though 
 in the germ. 
 
 [62] 
 
 mmm 
 
And I shall thereupon 
 Take rest, ere I be gone 
 Once more on my adventure brave and 
 new : 
 Fearless and unperplex'd, 
 When I wage battle next, 
 What weapons to select, what armour to 
 indue. 
 
 Youth ended, I shall try 
 My gain or loss thereby ; 
 Leave the fire ashes, what survives is 
 gold : 
 And I shall weigh the same, 
 Give life its praise or blame : 
 Young, all lay in dispute ; I shall know, 
 being old. 
 
 For note, when evening shuts, 
 A certain moment cuts 
 The deed off, calls the glory from the 
 gray: 
 A whisper from the west 
 Shoots — ' Add this to the rest, 
 Take it and try its worth : here dies 
 another day/ 
 
 [63] 
 
 -^ 
 
 _ 
 
So, still within this life, 
 Though lifted o'er its strife, 
 Let me discern, compare, pronounce at 
 last, 
 1 This rage was right i' the main, 
 That acquiescence vain : 
 The Future I may face now I have proved 
 the Past/ 
 
 For more is not reserved 
 
 To man, with soul just nerved 
 To act to-morrow what he learns to-day : 
 
 Here, work enough to watch 
 
 The Master work, and catch 
 Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the 
 tooPs true play. 
 
 As it was better, youth 
 Should strive, through acts uncouth, 
 Toward making, than repose on aught 
 found made : 
 So, better, age, exempt 
 From strife, should know, than tempt 
 Further. Thou waitedest age : wait death 
 nor be afraid I 
 
 [64] 
 
uffi3 
 
 Enough now, if the Right 
 And Good and Infinite 
 Be named here, as thou callest thy hand 
 thine own, 
 With knowledge absolute, 
 Subject to no dispute 
 From fools that crowded youth, nor let 
 thee feel alone. 
 
 Be there, for once and all, 
 Sever'd great minds from small, 
 Announced to each his station in the 
 Past! 
 Was I, the world arraign'd, 
 Were they, my soul disdain'd, 
 Right? Let age speak the truth and 
 give us peace at last ! 
 
 Now, who shall arbitrate ? 
 Ten men love what I hate, 
 Shun what I follow, slight what I re- 
 ceive ; 
 Ten, who in ears and eyes 
 Match me : we all surmise, 
 They this thing, and I that : whom shall 
 my soul believe ? 
 
 [6 5 ] 
 
 
Not on the vulgar mass 
 CalPd l work/ must sentence pass, 
 Things done, that took the eye and had 
 the price 
 O'er which, from level stand, 
 The low world laid its hand, 
 Found straightway to its mind, could 
 value in a trice : 
 
 But all, the world's coarse thumb 
 And finger failed to plumb, 
 So pass'd in making up the main ac- 
 count ; 
 All instincts immature, 
 All purposes unsure, 
 That weigh'd not as his work, yet swell'd 
 the man's amount. 
 
 Thoughts hardly to be pack'd 
 Into a narrow act, 
 Fancies that broke through language and 
 escaped ; 
 All I could never be, 
 All, men ignored in me, 
 This, I was worth to God, whose wheel 
 the pitcher shaped. 
 
 [66] 
 
Ay, note that Potter's wheel, 
 That metaphor ! and feel 
 Why time spins fast, why passive lies our 
 clay,— 
 Thou, to whom fools propound, 
 When the wine makes its round, 
 4 Since life fleets, all is change ; the Past 
 gone, seize to-day I ' 
 
 Fool I All that is, at all, 
 Lasts ever, past recall ; 
 Earth changes, but thy soul and God 
 stand sure : 
 What enter'd into thee, 
 That was, is, and shall be : 
 Time's wheel runs back or stops : Potter 
 and clay endure. 
 
 He fix'd thee mid this dance 
 Of plastic circumstance, 
 This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain 
 arrest : 
 Machinery just meant 
 To give thy soul its bent, 
 Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently 
 impress'd. 
 
 [67] 
 
What though the earlier grooves 
 Which ran the laughing loves 
 Around thy base, no longer pause and 
 press ? 
 What though, about thy rim, 
 Scull-things in order grim 
 Grow out, in graver mood, obey the 
 sterner stress ? 
 
 Look not thou down but up ! 
 To uses of a cup, 
 The festal board, lamp's flash and trum- 
 pet's peal, 
 The new wine's foaming flow, 
 The Master's lips a-glow ! 
 Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what 
 need'st thou with earth's wheel ? 
 
 But I need, now as then, 
 Thee, God, who mouldest men ; 
 And since, not even while the whirl was 
 worst, 
 Did I, — to the wheel of life 
 With shapes and colors rife, 
 Bound dizzily — mistake my end, to slake 
 Thy thirst ; 
 
 [68] 
 
 mam 
 
&= 
 
 So, take and use Thy work : 
 Amend what flaws may lurk, 
 What strain o' the stuff, what warpings 
 past the aim ! 
 My times be in Thy hand ! 
 Perfect the cup as plann'd I 
 Let age approve of youth, and death 
 complete the same ! 
 
 — Robert Browning. 
 
 [69] 
 
 _~» 
 
BE TRUE 
 
 jHOU must be true thyself, 
 If thou the truth wouldst 
 teach ; 
 Thy soul must overflow, if 
 thou 
 Another's soul wouldst reach ! 
 It needs the overflow of heart 
 To give the lips full speech. 
 
 Think truly, and thy thoughts 
 Shall the world's famine feed ; 
 
 Speak truly, and each word of thine 
 Shall be a fruitful seed ; 
 
 Live truly, and thy life shall be 
 A great and noble creed. 
 
 — Andrew Bonar. 
 
 [70] 
 
 MHMB 
 
A WORD OF LOVE 
 
 ANY a heart is hungry, starv- 
 ing, 
 For a little word of love; 
 Speak it then and as the sun- 
 shine 
 Gilds the lofty peaks above 
 
 So the joy of those who hear it 
 
 Sends its radiance down life's way, 
 
 And the world is brighter, better 
 For the loving words we say. 
 
 [7i] 
 
 flg 
 
A KIND WORD 
 
 OW little it costs, if we give it 
 a thought, 
 To make happy some heart 
 
 each day. 
 Just one kind word, or a 
 tender smile, 
 As we go on our daily way. 
 
 " Perchance a look will suffice to clear 
 The cloud from a neighbor's face, 
 And the press of a hand in sympathy 
 A sorrowful tear efface. 
 
 " It costs so little I wonder why 
 We give so little thought ? 
 A smile, kind words, a glance, a touch, 
 What magic with them is wrought ! " 
 
 H 
 
 mmmmm m 
 
DO YOUR DUTY 
 
 OLDED hands are ever weary, 
 Selfish hearts are never 
 
 gay; 
 
 Life for thee hath many duties, 
 Active be, then, while you 
 may. 
 Be strong to hope, heart ! 
 
 Though day is bright, 
 The stars can only shine 
 
 In the dark night, 
 Be strong, O heart of mine ; 
 Look towards the light. 
 
 [73] 
 
 - - - • 
 
 - 
 
NO FAILURE OR DEFEAT 
 
 HEN take this honey for the 
 
 bitterest cup, 
 There is no failure save in 
 
 giving up. 
 No real fall so long as one 
 still tries, 
 For seeming setbacks make the strong 
 
 man wise. 
 There's no defeat in truth, save from 
 
 within, 
 Unless you're beaten there, you're bound 
 to win. 
 
 [74] 
 
 iMHUMM 
 
 ■ 
 
DAFFODILS 
 
 WANDERED lonely as a 
 cloud 
 That floats on high o'er 
 vales and hills, 
 When all at once I saw a 
 crowd, — 
 A host of golden daffodils 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 
 
 Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And twinkle on the Milky Way, 
 
 They stretched in never-ending line 
 Along the margin of a bay : 
 
 Ten thousand saw I, at a glance, 
 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
 
 The waves beside them danced, but they 
 Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; 
 
 A poet could not but be gay 
 In such a jocund company ; 
 
 I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 
 
 What wealth the show to me had brought. 
 
 [75] 
 
For oft, when on my couch I lie, 
 In vacant or in pensive mood, 
 
 They flash upon that inward eye 
 Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
 
 And then my heart with pleasure fills 
 
 And dances with the daffodils. 
 
 — William Wordsworth 
 
 [76] 
 
 ^MM 
 
 mmm ^ gmmm 
 
 MMMHBMM 
 
MAXWELTON BRAES 
 
 AXWELTON braes are bonnie 
 Where early fa's the dew, 
 And it's there that Annie 
 Laurie 
 Gie'd me her promise true, — 
 Gie'd me her promise true, 
 Which ne'er forgot will be ; 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 I'd lay me doune and dee. 
 
 Her brow is like the snaw-drift ; 
 
 Her throat is like the swan ; 
 Her face it is the fairest 
 
 That e'er the sun shone on, — 
 That e'er the sun shone on, — 
 
 And dark blue is her ee ; 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 
 I'd lay me doune and dee. 
 
 Like dew on the gowan lying 
 Is the fa' o' her fairy feet ; 
 
 And like winds in summer sighing 
 Her voice is low and sweet — 
 
 [77] 
 
 — v n 
 
Her voice is low and sweet — 
 And she's a' the world to me ; 
 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 I'd lay me doune and dee. 
 
 — Douglas. 
 
 ['78] 
 
 -j£§3 
 
 
 MM 
 
 ItetfMMM 
 
 MM 
 
SALLY IN OUR ALLEY 
 
 F all the girls that are so smart 
 There's none like pretty 
 Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 There is no lady in the land 
 Is half so sweet as Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Her father he makes cabbage-nets 
 
 And through the streets does cry 
 'em ; 
 Her mother she sells laces long 
 
 To such as please to buy 'em ; 
 But sure such folks could ne'er beget 
 
 So sweet a girl as Sally ! 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 When she is by, I leave my work, 
 
 I love her so sincerely ; 
 My master comes like any Turk, 
 
 And bangs me most severely — 
 
 [79] 
 
But let him bang his bellyful, 
 
 I'll bear it all for Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Of all the days that's in the week 
 
 I dearly love but one day — 
 And that's the day that comes be- 
 twixt 
 
 A Saturday and Monday ; 
 For then I'm drest all in my best 
 
 To walk abroad with Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master carries me to church, 
 
 And often I am blamed 
 Because I leave him in the lurch 
 
 As soon as text is named ; 
 I leave the church in sermon-time 
 
 And slink away to Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 When Christmas comes about again 
 O then I shall have money ; 
 
 I'll hoard it up, and box it all, 
 I'll give it to my honey : 
 
 [80] 
 
 i^^Mfln 
 
 wto 
 
I would it were ten thousand pound, 
 
 I'd give it all to Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master and the neighbors all 
 
 Make game of me and Sally, 
 And, but for her, I'd better be 
 
 A slave and row a galley ; 
 But when my seven long years are out 
 
 O then I'll marry Sally, — 
 O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed. 
 
 But not in our alley ! 
 
 — H. Carey. 
 
 [81 ] 
 
 •^ 
 
 Mi 
 
RUTH 
 
 HE stood breast-high amid the 
 
 corn, 
 Clasped by the golden light 
 
 of morn, 
 Like the sweetheart of the 
 sun, 
 Who many a glowing kiss had won. 
 
 On her cheek an autumn flush 
 Deeply ripened ; — such a blush 
 In the midst of brown was born, 
 Like red poppies grown with corn. 
 
 Round her eyes her tresses fell, — 
 Which were blackest none could tell ; 
 But long lashes veiled a light 
 That had else been all too bright. 
 
 And her hat, with shady brim, 
 Made her tressy forehead dim ; — 
 Thus she stood amid the stooks, 
 Praising God with sweetest looks. 
 
 Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean 
 Where I reap thou shouldst but glean ; 
 Lay thy sheaf adown and come, 
 Share my harvest and my home. 
 
 — Thomas Hood. 
 
 [82] 
 
 ■^^AB 
 
 mm 
 
 MM 
 
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE 
 AT CORUNNA 
 
 'OT a drum was heard, not a 
 funeral note, 
 As his corpse to the rampart 
 we hurried ; 
 Not a soldier discharged his 
 farewell shot 
 O'er the grave where our hero we 
 buried. 
 
 We buried him darkly at the dead of 
 night, 
 
 The sods with our bayonets turning ; 
 By the struggling moonbeam's misty light 
 
 And the lantern dimly burning. 
 
 No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 
 Not in sheet or in shroud we wound 
 him ; 
 
 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
 With his martial cloak around him. 
 
 Few and short were the prayers we said, 
 And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
 
 But we steadfastly gazed on the face that 
 was dead, 
 And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 
 
 [8 3 ] 
 
 ■» 
 
 ■MM^aM 
 
We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow 
 bed 
 
 And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 
 That the foe and the stranger would tread 
 o'er his head, 
 And we far away on the billow 1 
 
 Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's 
 gone 
 And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — 
 
 But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep 
 on 
 In the grave where a Britain has laid 
 him. 
 
 But half of our heavy task was done 
 When the clock struck the hour for re- 
 tiring : 
 And we heard the distant and random 
 gun 
 That the foe was sullenly firing. 
 
 Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
 From the field of his fame fresh and 
 gory; 
 We carved not a line, and we raised not a 
 stone, 
 But we left him alone with his glory. 
 
 —G. Wolfe. 
 
 [84] 
 
 i^^MH 
 
V 
 
 BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND 
 
 ;LOW, blow, thou winter wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 As man's ingratitude ; 
 Thy tooth is not so keen 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green 
 
 holly : 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving 
 mere folly : 
 
 Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
 Thou dost not bite so nigh 
 As benefits forgot : 
 Though thou the waters warp, 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 As friend remember'd not. 
 Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green 
 
 holly : 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving 
 mere folly : 
 
 Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 — William Shakespeare. 
 
 [85] 
 
 
 mm* 
 
 m 
 
MUSIC 
 
 USIC, when soft voices die, 
 Vibrates in the memory — 
 Odors, when sweet violets 
 
 sicken, 
 Live within the sense they 
 
 quicken. 
 
 Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, 
 Are heap'd for the beloved's bed ; 
 And so thy thoughts, when Thou art gone, 
 Love itself shall slumber on. 
 
 — Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 [86] 
 
MEMORY 
 
 HEN to the sessions of sweet 
 silent thought 
 I summon up remembrance of 
 
 things past, 
 I sigh the lack of many a 
 thing I sought, 
 And with old woes new wail my dear 
 time's waste ; 
 
 Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 
 
 For precious friends hid in death's date- 
 less night, 
 
 And weep afresh love's long-since-can- 
 cell'd woe, 
 
 And moan the expense of many a vanish'd 
 sight. 
 
 Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
 Which I new pay as if not paid before : 
 
 — But if the while I think on thee, dear 
 
 Friend, 
 All losses are restored, and sorrows end. 
 
 — William Shakespeare. 
 
 [87] 
 
 M 
 
BABY 
 
 HERE did you come from, 
 baby dear ? 
 Out of the everywhere into 
 here. 
 
 Where did you get those eyes 
 of blue? 
 Out of the sky as I came through. 
 
 What makes the light in them sparkle 
 
 and spin ? 
 Some of the starry twinkles left in. 
 
 Where did you get that little tear ? 
 I found it waiting when I got here. 
 
 What makes your forehead so smooth and 
 
 high? 
 A soft hand stroked it as I went by. 
 
 What makes your cheek like a warm 
 
 white rose ? 
 I saw something better than any one 
 
 knows. 
 
 Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss ? 
 Three angels gave me at once a kiss. 
 
 [88] 
 
 bbmm 
 
 ■M* 
 
Where did you get this pearly ear ? 
 God spoke, and it came out to hear. 
 
 Where did you get those arms and hands ? 
 Love made itself into bonds and bands. 
 
 Feet, whence did you come, you darling 
 
 things ? 
 From the same box as the cherubs' wings. 
 
 How did they all just come to be you? 
 God thought about me, and so I grew. 
 
 But how did you come to us, you dear ? 
 God thought about you, and so I am here. 
 
 — George MacDonald. 
 
 [89] 
 
 «i M. 
 
ABOU BEN ADHEM 
 
 BOU BEN ADHEM (may his 
 tribe increase !) 
 Awoke one night from a deep 
 
 dream of peace, 
 And saw, within the moon- 
 light in his room, 
 Making it rich, and like the lily in bloom, 
 An angel writing in a book of gold ; 
 Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem 
 
 bold, 
 
 And to the presence in the room he said, 
 "What writest thou ? " — The vision raised 
 
 its head, 
 And with a look made of all sweet ac- 
 cord, 
 Answered, " The names of those who love 
 
 the Lord." 
 "And is mine one?" said Abou ; "Nay, 
 
 not so," 
 Replied the angel. Abou spoke more 
 
 low, 
 But cheerily still ; and said, " I pray thee 
 
 then, 
 Write me as one that loves his fellow- 
 
 men. 
 
 jt 
 
 [90] 
 
 -^5B 
 
 mm 
 
The angel wrote and vanished. The next 
 
 night 
 It came again with a great wakening 
 
 light, 
 And showed the names whom love of 
 
 God had blessed, 
 And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the 
 
 rest. 
 
 — Leigh Hunt. 
 
 [9i] 
 
 m m* 
 
PAST AND PRESENT 
 
 REMEMBER, I remember 
 The house where I was born, 
 The little window where the 
 
 sun 
 Came peeping in at morn ; 
 He never came a wink too 
 soon 
 Nor brought too long a day ; 
 But now, I often wish the night 
 Had borne my breath away. 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 The roses, red and white, 
 
 The violets, and the lily-cups — 
 
 Those flowers made of light ! 
 
 The lilacs where the robin built, 
 
 And where my brother set 
 
 The laburnum on his birthday, — 
 
 The tree is living yet I 
 
 [92] 
 
I remember, I remember 
 
 Where I was used to swing, 
 
 And thought the air must rush as fresh 
 
 To swallows on the wing ; 
 
 My spirit flew in feathers then 
 
 That is so heavy now, 
 
 And summer pools could hardly cool 
 
 The fever on my brow. 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 The fir trees dark and high ; 
 
 I used to think their slender tops 
 
 Were close against the sky : 
 
 It was a childish ignorance, 
 
 But now 'tis little joy 
 
 To know I'm farther off from Heaven 
 
 Than when I was a boy. 
 
 — Thomas Hood, 
 
 [93] 
 
 — 
 
 ^ 
 
SOLITUDE 
 
 APPY the man, whose wish 
 
 and care 
 A few paternal acres bound, 
 Content to breathe his native 
 air 
 In his own ground. 
 
 Whose herds with milk, whose fields with 
 
 bread, 
 Whose flocks supply him with attire ; 
 Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 
 In winter fire. 
 
 Blest, who can unconcern'dly find 
 Hours, days, and years, slide soft away 
 In health of body, peace of mind, 
 Quiet by day, 
 
 Sound sleep by night ; study and ease 
 Together mixt, sweet recreation, 
 And innocence, which most does please 
 With meditation. 
 
 Thus let me live, unseen, unknown ; 
 Thus unlamented let me die ; 
 Steal from the world, and not a stone 
 Tell where I lie. 
 
 — Alexander Pope. 
 
 [94] 
 
 m 
 
A CANADIAN BOAT-SONG 
 
 Written on the River St, Lawrence 
 
 Et remigem cantus hortatur. — Quintilian. 
 
 'AINTLY as tolls the evening 
 chime, 
 Our voices keep tune and our 
 
 oars keep time. 
 Soon as the woods on shore 
 look dim, 
 
 We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. 
 Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, 
 The Rapids are near, and the daylight's 
 past ! 
 
 Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? 
 There is not a breath the blue wave to 
 
 curl ! 
 But when the wind blows off the shore, 
 Oh ! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar, 
 Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
 The Rapids are near, and the daylight's 
 
 past 1 
 
 Utawas* tide ! this trembling moon 
 Shall see us float over thy surges soon. 
 
 [95] 
 
 — 
 
Saint of this green Isle ! hear our prayers, 
 Oh ! grant us cool heavens and favoring 
 
 airs. 
 Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
 The Rapids are near, and the daylight's 
 
 past! 
 
 — Thomas Moore. 
 
 [96] 
 
 ■Mfe 
 
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY 
 CHURCHYARD 
 
 1HE curfew tolls the knell of 
 parting day ; 
 The lowing herds wind 
 slowly o'er the lea ; 
 The ploughman homeward 
 plods his weary way, 
 And leaves the world to darkness and 
 to me. 
 
 Now fades the glimmering landscape on 
 the sight, 
 And all the air a solemn stillness 
 holds, 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning 
 flight, 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant 
 fold- 
 Save that, from yonder ivy- mantled 
 tower, 
 The moping owl does to the moon 
 complain 
 Of such as, wandering near her secret 
 bower, 
 Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 
 
 [97] 
 
 m*m 
 
 m 
 
 — 
 
 ^*> 
 
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew- 
 tree's shade, 
 Where heaves the turf in many a 
 mouldering heap, 
 Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet 
 sleep. 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing 
 morn, 
 The swallow, twittering from the straw- 
 built shed, 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing 
 horn, 
 No more shall rouse them from their 
 lowly bed. 
 
 For them no more the blazing hearth 
 shall burn, 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening 
 care; 
 Nor children run to lisp their sire's re- 
 turn, 
 Or climb his knees the envied kiss to 
 share. 
 
 [98] 
 
 ^MMM^MB 
 
Oft did the harvest to their sickle 
 yield ; 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has 
 broke ; 
 How jocund did they drive their team 
 a-field ! 
 How bowed the woods beneath their 
 sturdy stroke ! 
 
 Let not Ambition mock their useful 
 toil, 
 Their homely joy, and destiny obscure ; 
 Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful 
 smile, 
 The short and simple annals of the 
 poor. 
 
 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of 
 power, 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth 
 e'er gave, 
 Await, alike, the inevitable hour — 
 The paths of glory lead but to the 
 grave. 
 
 [99] 
 
 M^MM 
 
 _ 
 
 ^^a^^— a 
 

 Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the 
 fault, 
 
 If memory o'er their tomb no trophies 
 raise, 
 Where, through the long-drawn aisle and 
 fretted vault, 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of 
 praise. 
 
 Can storied urn, or animated bust, 
 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting 
 breath ? 
 Can Honor's voice provoke the silent 
 dust, 
 Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear 
 of death ? 
 
 Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid 
 Some heart, once pregnant with celes- 
 tial fire ; 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have 
 swayed, 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 
 
 [ IO °] 
 
 ^■i 
 
 ■M 
 
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample 
 page, 
 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er 
 unroll ; 
 Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 
 And froze the genial current of the 
 soul. 
 
 Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 
 The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean 
 bear ; 
 Full many a flower is born to blush un- 
 seen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert 
 air. 
 
 Some village Hampden, that, with daunt- 
 less breast, 
 The little tyrant of his fields with- 
 stood ; 
 Some mute, inglorious Milton here may 
 rest ; 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his coun- 
 try's blood. 
 
 [IOI] 
 
 _ 
 
The applause of listening senates to com- 
 mand, 
 
 The threats of pain and ruin to de- 
 spise, 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
 And read their history in a nation's 
 eyes, 
 
 Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed 
 alone 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes 
 confined ; — 
 Forbade to wade through slaughter to a 
 throne, 
 And shut the gates, of mercy on man- 
 kind ; 
 
 The struggling pangs of conscious Truth 
 to hide, 
 To quench the blushes of ingenuous 
 Shame, 
 Or heap the shrine of Luxury and 
 Pride 
 With incense kindled at the Muse's 
 flame. 
 
 [ 102] 
 
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble 
 strife, 
 
 Their sober wishes never learned to 
 stray : 
 Along the cool, sequestered vale of life, 
 They kept the noiseless tenor of their 
 way. 
 
 Yet, e'en these bones from insult to pro- 
 tect, 
 Some frail memorial, still erected 
 nigh, 
 With uncouth rhymes and shapeless 
 sculpture decked, 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 
 
 Their name, their years, spelled by the 
 
 unlettered Muse, 
 
 The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
 
 And many a holy text around she 
 
 strews, 
 
 That teach the rustic moralist to die. 
 
 [ 103] 
 
 ***m 
 
 W* 
 
For who, to dumb forge tf illness a prey, 
 This pleasing, anxious being, e'er re- 
 signed — 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful 
 day— 
 Nor cast one longing, lingering look 
 behind ? 
 
 On some fond breast the parting soul 
 relies ; 
 Some pious drops the closing eye re- 
 quires : 
 E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature 
 cries, 
 E'en in our ashes live their wonted 
 fires. 
 
 For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored 
 dead, 
 Dost in these lines their artless tale 
 relate, 
 If, chance, by lonely Contemplation led, 
 Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy 
 fate, 
 
 [ 104] 
 
 
 ^m 
 
 H^M 
 
Haply, some hoary-headed swain may 
 say, 
 " Oft have we seen him, at the peep of 
 dawn, 
 Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews 
 away, 
 To meet the sun upon the upland 
 lawn. 
 
 "There, at the foot of yonder nodding 
 beech, 
 That wreathes its old, fantastic roots 
 so high, 
 His listless length at noontide would he 
 stretch, 
 And pore upon the brook that babbles 
 
 by. 
 
 " Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in 
 scorn, 
 Muttering his wayward fancies, he 
 would rove ; 
 Now drooping, woful, wan, like one for- 
 lorn, 
 Or crazed with care, or crossed with 
 hopeless love. 
 
 [105 3 
 
" One morn I missed him on the accus- 
 tomed hill, 
 Along the heath, and near his favorite 
 tree ; 
 Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 
 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was 
 he. 
 
 " The next, with dirges due, in sad array, 
 Slow through the churchway path we 
 saw him borne ; 
 Approach and read (for thou canst read) 
 the lay 
 Graved on the stone beneath yon aged 
 thorn." 
 
 THE EPITAPH 
 
 Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 
 A youth, to fortune and to fame un- 
 known : 
 Fair Science frowned upon his humble 
 birth, 
 And Melancholy marked him for her 
 own. 
 
 [106] 
 
 m**m 
 
 mmtm 
 
 MtaM 
 
Large was his bounty, and his soul sin- 
 cere : 
 
 Heaven did a recompense as largely 
 send : 
 He gave to misery all he had — a tear — 
 He gained from Heaven — 'twas all he 
 wished — a friend. 
 
 No farther seek his merits to disclose, 
 Or draw his frailties from their dread 
 abode 
 (There they, alike, in trembling hope, re- 
 pose), 
 The bosom of his Father and his God. 
 
 — Thomas Gray. 
 
 [ 107] 
 
 —^ 
 
 *— 
 
THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 'FT in the stilly night 
 Ere slumber's chain 
 bound me, 
 Fond Memory brings the light 
 Of other days around me : 
 The smiles, the tears 
 Of boyhood's years, 
 The words of love then spoken ; 
 The eyes that shone, 
 Now dimmed and gone, 
 The cheerful hearts now broken ! 
 Thus in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
 Sad Memory brings the light 
 Of other days around me. 
 
 When I remember all 
 
 The friends so link'd together 
 I've seen around me fall 
 
 Like leaves in wintry weather, 
 
 I feel like one 
 
 Who treads alone 
 Some banquet-hall deserted, 
 
 Whose lights are fled 
 
 Whose garlands dead, 
 And all but he departed ! 
 
 [108] 
 
 _**i 
 
 m ^^mm 
 
Thus in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
 Sad Memory brings the light 
 
 Of other days around me. 
 
 — Thomas Moore. 
 
 [ IQ 9] 
 
COUNSEL TO GIRLS 
 
 ATHER ye rosebuds while ye 
 may, 
 Old Time is still a-flying : 
 And this same flower that 
 smiles to-day, 
 To-morrow will be dying. 
 
 The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, 
 
 The higher he's a-getting 
 The sooner will his race be run, 
 
 And nearer he's to setting. 
 
 That age is best which is the first, 
 When youth and blood are warmer ; 
 
 But being spent, the worse, and worst 
 Times, still succeed the former. 
 
 Then be not coy, but use your time ; 
 
 And while ye may, go marry : 
 For having lost but once your prime, 
 
 You may for ever tarry. 
 
 — Robert Herrick. 
 
 [no] 
 
O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM 
 
 LITTLE town of Bethlehem, 
 How still we see thee lie ! 
 Above thy deep and dream- 
 less sleep 
 The silent stars go by ; 
 Yet in thy dark streets 
 shineth 
 The everlasting Light ; 
 The hopes and fears of all the years 
 Are met in thee to-night. 
 
 For Christ is born of Mary, 
 
 And, gathered all above, 
 While mortals sleep, the angels keep 
 
 Their watch of wondering love. 
 O morning stars, together 
 
 Proclaim the holy birth ! 
 And praises sing to God the King, 
 
 And peace to men on earth. 
 
 How silently, how silently, 
 The wondrous gift is given ! 
 
 So God imparts to human hearts 
 The blessings of His heaven. 
 
 [in] 
 
No ear may hear His coming, 
 
 But in this world of sin, 
 Where meek souls will receive Him still, 
 
 The dear Christ enters in. 
 
 O holy Child of Bethlehem ! 
 
 Descend to us, we pray ; 
 Cast out our sin, and enter in, 
 
 Be born in us to-day. 
 We hear the Christmas angels 
 
 The great glad tidings tell ; 
 Oh, come to us, abide with us, 
 
 Our Lord Emmanuel. 
 
 — Phillips Brooks. 
 
 [112] 
 
 —^4 
 
 BB 
 
\ 
 
 COMFORT 
 
 PEAK low to me, my Saviour, 
 
 low and sweet 
 From out the hallelujahs, 
 
 sweet and low, 
 Lest I should fear and fall, 
 and miss Thee so 
 Who art not missed by any that entreat. 
 Speak to me as to Mary at Thy feet — 
 And if no precious gums my hands be- 
 stow 
 
 Let my tears drop like amber, while I go 
 In reach of Thy divinest voice complete 
 In humanest affliction — thus, in sooth, 
 To lose the sense of losing ! As a child, 
 Whose song-bird seeks the wood for ever- 
 more, 
 Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth ; 
 Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled, 
 He sleeps the faster that he wept before. 
 — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 ["3] 
 
jggl^ 
 
 THE BROOK 
 
 COME from haunts of coot 
 and hern, 
 I make a sudden sally, 
 And sparkle out among the 
 fern, 
 To bicker down the valley. 
 
 By thirty hills I hurry down, 
 Or slip between the ridges, 
 
 By twenty thorps, a little town, 
 And half a hundred bridges. 
 
 Till last by Philips farm I flow 
 To join the brimming river, 
 
 For men may come and men may go, 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 I chatter over stony ways, 
 In little sharps and trebles, 
 
 I bubble into eddying bays, 
 I babble on the pebbles. 
 
 With many a curve my banks I fret 
 By many a field and fallow, 
 
 And many a fairy foreland set 
 With willow-weed and mallow. 
 
I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
 To join the brimming river, 
 
 For men may come and men may go, 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 I wind about, and in and out, 
 With here a blossom sailing, 
 
 And here and there a lusty trout, 
 And here and there a grayling, 
 
 And here and there a foamy flake 
 
 Upon me, as I travel 
 With many a silvery waterbreak 
 
 Above the golden gravel, 
 
 And draw them all along, and flow 
 To join the brimming river, 
 
 For men may come and men may go, 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 
 
 I slide by hazel covers ; 
 I move the sweet forget-me-nots 
 
 That grow for happy lovers. 
 
 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 
 Among my skimming swallows ; 
 
 I make the netted sunbeam dance 
 Against my sandy shallows. 
 
I murmur under moon and stars 
 In brambly wildernesses ; 
 
 I linger by my shingly bars ; 
 I loiter round my cresses ; 
 
 And out again I curve and flow 
 To join the brimming river, 
 
 For men may come and men may go, 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 — Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
 
 [116] 
 
RING OUT, WILD BELLS 
 
 ING out, wild bells, to the wild 
 
 sky, 
 
 The flying cloud, the frosty 
 
 light ; 
 The year is dying in the 
 
 night ; 
 Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 
 
 Ring out the old, ring in the new ; 
 
 Ring, happy bells, across the snow ; 
 
 The year is going, let him go ; 
 Ring out the false, ring in the true. 
 
 Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 
 For those that here we see no more ; 
 Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 
 
 Ring in redress to all mankind. 
 
 Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
 And ancient forms of party strife ; 
 Ring in the nobler modes of life, 
 
 With sweeter manners, purer laws. 
 
 Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
 The civic slander and the spite ; 
 Ring in the love of truth and right, 
 
 Ring in the common love of good. 
 
 [ii7] 
 
Ring out old shapes of foul disease, 
 Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
 Ring out the thousand wars of old, 
 
 Ring in the thousand years of peace. 
 
 Ring in the valiant man and free, 
 The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
 Ring out the darkness of the land, 
 
 Ring in the Christ that is to be. 
 
 — Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
 
 [118] 
 
THE BLESSED DAMOZEL 
 
 HE 
 
 damozel leaned 
 
 blessed 
 out 
 From the gold bar of Heaven ; 
 Her eyes were deeper than the 
 
 depth 
 Of waters stilled at even ; 
 She had three lilies in her hand, 
 
 And the stars in her hair were seven. 
 
 \ 
 
 Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, 
 No wrought flowers did adorn, 
 
 But a white rose of Mary's gift, 
 For service meetly worn ; 
 
 Her hair that lay along her back 
 Was yellow like ripe corn. 
 
 Herseemed she scarce had been a day 
 
 One of God's choristers ; 
 The wonder was not yet quite gone 
 
 From that still look of hers ; 
 Albeit, to them she left, her day 
 
 Had counted as ten years. 
 
 [H9] 
 
 _ 
 
(To one, it is ten years of years. 
 
 . . . Yet now, and in this place, 
 Surely she leaned o'er me — her hair 
 
 Fell all about my face . . . 
 Nothing — the autumn-fall of leaves : 
 
 The whole year sets apace.) 
 
 It was the rampart of God's house 
 
 That she was standing on ; 
 By God built over the sheer depth 
 
 The which is Space begun ; 
 So high, that looking downward thence 
 
 She scarce could see the sun. 
 
 It lies in Heaven, across the flood 
 
 Of ether, as a bridge. 
 Beneath, the tides of day and night 
 
 With flame and darkness ridge 
 The void, as low as where this earth 
 
 Spins like a fretful midge. 
 
 Around her, lovers, newly met 
 'Mid deathless love's acclaims, 
 
 Spoke evermore among themselves 
 Their heart-remembered names ; 
 
 And the souls mounting up to God 
 Went by her like thin flames. 
 
 [ 120] 
 
 ■iM** 
 
And still she bowed herself and stooped 
 
 Out of the circling charm ; 
 Until her bosom must have made 
 
 The bar she leaned on warm, 
 And the lilies lay as if asleep 
 
 Along her bended arm. 
 
 From the fixed place of Heaven she saw 
 Time like a pulse shake fierce 
 
 Through all the worlds. Her gaze still 
 strove 
 Within the gulf to pierce 
 
 Its path ; and now she spoke as when 
 The stars sang in their spheres. 
 
 The sun was gone now ; the curled moon 
 
 Was like a little feather 
 Fluttering far down the gulf; and now 
 
 She spoke through the still weather. 
 Her voice was like the voice the stars 
 
 Had when they sang together. 
 
 (Ah sweet ! even now, in that bird's song, 
 
 Strove not her accents there, 
 Fain to be hearkened ? when those bells 
 
 Possessed the mid-day air, 
 Strove not her steps to reach my side 
 
 Down all the echoing stair ?) 
 
 [121] 
 
 m 
 
 ■■ 
 
on 
 
 J^i. 
 
 " I wish that he were come to me, 
 For he will come," she said. 
 
 " Have I not prayed in Heaven ? 
 earth, 
 Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd ? 
 
 Are not two prayers a perfect strength ? 
 And shall I feel afraid ? 
 
 " When round his head the aureole clings, 
 
 And he is clothed in white, 
 I'll take his hand and go with him 
 
 To the deep wells of light ; 
 As unto a stream we will step down, 
 
 And bathe there in God's sight. 
 
 " We two will stand beside that shrine, 
 
 Occult, withheld, untrod, 
 Whose lamps are stirred continually 
 
 With prayer sent up to God ; 
 And see our old prayers, granted, melt 
 
 Each like a little cloud. 
 
 " We two will lie i' the shadow of 
 
 That living mystic tree 
 Within whose secret growth the Dove 
 
 Is sometimes felt to be, 
 While every leaf that His plumes touch 
 
 Saith His Name audibly. 
 
 [ 122] 
 
ff 
 
 " And I myself will teach to him, 
 
 I myself, lying so, 
 The songs I sing here ; which his voice 
 
 Shall pause in, hushed and slow, 
 And find some knowledge at each pause, 
 
 Or some new thing to know." 
 
 (Alas ! we two, we two, thou say'st ! 
 
 Yea, one wast thou with me 
 That once of old. But shall God lift 
 
 To endless unity 
 The soul whose likeness with thy soul 
 
 Was but its love for thee ?) 
 
 " We two," she said, " will seek the grove 
 
 Where the lady Mary is, 
 With her five handmaidens, whose names 
 
 Are five sweet symphonies, 
 Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, 
 
 Margaret and Rosalys. 
 
 " Circlewise sit they, with bound locks 
 
 And foreheads garlanded ; 
 Into the fine cloth white like flame 
 
 Weaving the golden thread, 
 To fashion the birth-robes for them 
 
 Who are just born, being dead. 
 
 [ I2 3] 
 
 j®& 
 
JB& 
 
 " He shall fear, haply, and be dumb, 
 
 Then will I lay my cheek 
 To His, and tell about our love, 
 
 Not once abashed or weak : 
 And the dear Mother will approve 
 
 My pride, and let me speak. 
 
 " Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, 
 To Him round whom all souls 
 
 Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads 
 Bowed with their aureoles : 
 
 And angels meeting us shall sing 
 To their citherns and citoles. 
 
 " There will I ask of Christ the Lord 
 Thus much for him and me : — 
 
 Only to live as once on earth 
 With Love, — only to be, 
 
 As then awhile, for ever now 
 Together, I and he." 
 
 She gazed and listened and then said, 
 Less sad of speech than mild, — 
 
 " All this is when he comes." She ceased. 
 The light thrilled towards her, filFd 
 
 With angels in strong level flight. 
 Her eyes prayed, and she smil'd. 
 
 [ 124] 
 
 m—mmmm 
 
 ■n 
 
(I saw her smile.) But soon their path 
 Was vague in distant spheres : 
 
 And then she cast her arms along 
 The golden barriers, 
 
 And laid her face between her hands 
 And wept. (I heard her tears.) 
 
 — Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 
 
 [125] 
 
 an 
 
 Mum 
 
LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT 
 
 EAD, kindly light, amid the 
 encircling gloom, 
 Lead Thou me on : 
 The night is dark, and I am 
 far from home, 
 Lead Thou me on : 
 Keep Thou my feet ; I do not ask to see 
 The distant scene; one step enough for 
 me. 
 
 I was not ever thus, nor prayed that 
 > Thou 
 
 Should'st lead me on : 
 I loved to choose and see my path ; but 
 now, 
 
 Lead Thou me on : 
 I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, 
 Pride ruled my will ; remember not past 
 years. 
 
 So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it 
 still 
 
 Will lead me on, 
 O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, 
 till 
 
 The night is gone, 
 
 [126] 
 
 - 
 
And with the morn those angel faces 
 
 smile, 
 Which I have loved long since, and lost 
 
 awhile. 
 
 — John Henry Newman. 
 
 [127] 
 
 B*^ 
 
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK ' 
 
 REAK, break, break, 
 
 On thy cold gray stones, O 
 Sea! 
 And I would that my tongue 
 could utter 
 The thoughts that arise in 
 me. 
 
 O well for the fisherman's boy, 
 
 That he shouts with his sister at play I 
 O well for the sailor lad, 
 
 That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 
 
 And the stately ships go on 
 To their haven under the hill ! 
 
 But for the touch of a vanish'd hand, 
 And the sound of a voice that is still ! 
 
 Break, break, break, 
 
 At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! 
 But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
 
 Will never come back to me. 
 
 — Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
 
 [128] 
 
 ■Min 
 
O LOVE, THAT WILT NOT 
 LET ME GO 
 
 LOVE, that wilt not let me go, 
 I rest my weary soul in 
 Thee : 
 I give Thee back the life I 
 owe, 
 
 That in Thine ocean depths its flow 
 May richer, fuller be. 
 
 Light, that followest all my way, 
 
 I yield my Sickling torch to Thee ; 
 My heart restores its borrow'd ray, 
 That in thy sunshine's blaze its day 
 May brighter, fairer be. 
 
 Joy, that seekest me thro' pain, 
 
 I cannot close my heart to Thee ; 
 
 1 trace the rainbow thro' the rain, 
 And feel the promise is not vain, 
 
 That morn shall tearless be. 
 
 Cross, that liftest up my head, 
 
 I dare not ask to fly from Thee ; 
 
 1 lay in dust, life's glory dead, 
 
 And from the ground there blossoms red 
 Life that shall endless be. 
 
 — George Matheson. 
 
 [ I2 9 1 
 
FROM " PIPPA PASSES " 
 
 HE year's at the spring, 
 And day's at the morn ; 
 Morning's at seven ; 
 
 The hill-side's dew-pearl'd ; 
 The lark's on the wing; 
 The snail's on the thorn ; 
 God's in His heaven — 
 All's right with the world. 
 
 — Robert Browning. 
 
 [ 130] 
 
 __ 
 
 .^ — 
 
NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE 
 
 EARER, my God, to Thee, 
 
 Nearer to Thee ! 
 E'en though it be a cross 
 
 That raiseth me ; 
 Still all my song would be, 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 Nearer to Thee ! 
 
 Though like the wanderer, 
 The sun gone down, 
 
 Darkness be over me, 
 My rest a stone ; 
 
 Yet in my dreams I'd be 
 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 Nearer to Thee ! 
 
 There let the way appear 
 Steps unto Heaven ; 
 
 All that Thou send'st to me 
 In mercy given ; 
 
 Angels to beckon me 
 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 Nearer to Thee ! 
 
 [i3i] 
 
Then with my waking thoughts 
 Bright with Thy praise, 
 
 Out of my stony griefs 
 Bethel I'll raise ; 
 
 So by my woes to be 
 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 Nearer to Thee ! 
 
 Or if on joyful wing 
 
 Cleaving the sky, 
 Sun, moon, and stars forgot, 
 
 Upwards I fly, 
 Still all my song shall be, 
 Nearer, my God, to thee, 
 
 Nearer to Thee ! 
 
 — Sarah Flower Adams. 
 
 [132] 
 
 ■■■tfBfl 
 
 m 
 
 Mfett 
 
 fa-^^M 
 
THE SLEEP 
 
 41 He giveth His beloved sleep."— Psalm oxxvii. 2. 
 
 F all the thoughts of God that 
 are 
 Born inward unto souls afar, 
 Along the Psalmist's music 
 
 deep, 
 Now tell me if that any is, 
 For gift or grace, surpassing this — 
 " He giveth His beloved, sleep " ? 
 
 What would we give to our beloved ? — 
 The hero's heart, to be unmoved, 
 The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, 
 The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, 
 The monarch's crown, to light the 
 brows. — 
 " He giveth His beloved, sleep." 
 
 What do we give to our beloved ? — 
 A little faith, all undisproved, 
 A little dust, to overweep, 
 And bitter memories, to make 
 The whole earth blasted for our sake. 
 " He giveth His beloved, sleep." 
 
 [ i33 ] 
 
 * 
 
 ■MM 
 
" Sleep soft, beloved ! " we sometimes say, 
 
 But have no tune to charm away 
 
 Sad dreams that through the eyelids 
 
 creep : 
 
 But never doleful dream again 
 Shall break the happy slumber, when 
 " He giveth His beloved, sleep." 
 
 O earth, so full of dreary noises ! 
 men, with wailing in your voices ! 
 O delved gold, the wailers heap ! 
 
 strife, O curse, that o'er it fall ! 
 God makes a silence through you all, 
 
 And "giveth His beloved, sleep." 
 
 His dews drop mutely on the hill, 
 His cloud above it saileth still, 
 Though on its slope men sow and reap. 
 More softly than the dew is shed, 
 Or cloud is floated overhead, 
 " He giveth His beloved, sleep." 
 
 Yea, men may wonder while they scan 
 A living, thinking, feeling man, 
 Confirmed, in such a rest to keep ; 
 But angels say — and through the word 
 
 1 think their happy smile is heard — 
 " He giveth His beloved, sleep." 
 
 [134] 
 
 
For me, my heart that erst did go 
 
 Most like a tired child at a show, 
 
 That sees through tears the jugglers 
 
 leap, — 
 Would now its wearied vision close, 
 Would childlike on His love repose, 
 Who " giveth His beloved, sleep." 
 
 \ 
 
 And, friends, dear friends, — when shall 
 
 it be 
 That this low breath is gone from me, 
 And round my bier ye come to weep, 
 Let one, most loving of you all, 
 Say, " Not a tear must o'er her fall — 
 He giveth His beloved, sleep." 
 
 — Elizabeth Barrett Browning* 
 
 [135] 
 
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RECESSIONAL 
 
 )OD of our fathers, known of 
 old- 
 Lord of our far-flung battle 
 line — 
 Beneath whose awful hand 
 we hold 
 Dominion over palm and pine — 
 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
 Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 
 
 The tumult and the shouting dies — 
 The Captains and the Kings depart — 
 
 Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, 
 An humble and a contrite heart. 
 
 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
 
 Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 
 
 Far-called our navies melt away — 
 On dune and headland sinks the fire— 
 
 Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 
 Is one with Nineveh and Tyre ! 
 
 Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, 
 
 Lest we forget — lest we forget I 
 
 [136] 
 
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 IMM 
 
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose 
 Wild tongues that have not Thee in 
 awe — 
 
 Such boastings as the Gentiles use, 
 Or lesser breeds without the Law — 
 
 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
 
 Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 
 
 For heathen heart that puts her trust 
 
 In reeking tube and iron shard — 
 All valiant dust that builds on dust, 
 And guarding calls not Thee to 
 guard — 
 For frantic boast and foolish word, 
 Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord ! 
 
 Amen. 
 — Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 [i37] 
 
 MMi 
 
 Hi 
 
 MMM 
 
 MM 
 
ABIDE WITH ME 
 
 BIDE with me ! fast falls the 
 even-tide ; 
 The darkness deepens ; Lord, 
 
 with me abide. 
 When other helpers fail, and 
 comforts flee, 
 Help of the helpless, O abide with me ! 
 
 Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day ; 
 Earth's joys grow dim ; its glories pass 
 
 away : 
 Change and decay in all around I see ; 
 O Thou, who changest not, abide with 
 
 me ! 
 
 Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word ; 
 But, as Thou dwell'st with Thy disciples, 
 
 Lord, 
 Familiar, condescending, patient, free, 
 Come, not to sojourn, but abide, with 
 
 me! 
 
 Come not in terrors, as the King of 
 
 kings ; 
 But kind and good, with healing in Thy 
 
 wings ; 
 
 [138] 
 
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 m 
 
 m 
 
 ___ 
 
Tears for all woes, a heart for every 
 
 plea; 
 Come, Friend of sinners, and thus 'bide 
 
 with rne ! 
 
 Thou on my head in early youth didst 
 
 smile ; 
 And, though rebellious and perverse 
 
 meanwhile, 
 Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee : 
 On to the close, O Lord, abide with me. 
 
 I need Thy Presence every passing hour : 
 What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's 
 
 power ? 
 Who like Thyself my guide and stay can 
 
 be? 
 Through cloud and sunshine, O abide 
 
 with me ! 
 
 I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to 
 bless : 
 
 Ills have no weight, and tears no bitter- 
 ness : 
 
 Where is Death's sting? where, Grave, 
 thy victory ? 
 
 I triumph still, if Thou abide with me ! 
 
 [ i39] 
 
 - ^ ' 
 
Hold then Thy cross before my closing 
 
 eyes ! 
 Shine through the gloom, and point me 
 
 to the skies ! 
 Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's 
 
 vain shadows flee ; 
 In life and death, Lord, abide with 
 
 me I 
 
 — Henry Francis Lyte. 
 
 [ Ho] 
 
 ^^MHUMaMMMHBMM 
 
NATURE 
 
 S a fond mother, when the day 
 is o'er, 
 Leads by the hand her little 
 
 child to bed, 
 Half willing, half reluctant 
 to be led, 
 And leave his broken playthings on the 
 
 floor, 
 Still gazing at them through the open 
 door, 
 
 Nor wholly reassured and comforted 
 
 By promises of others in their stead, 
 
 Which, though more splendid, may not 
 
 please him more ; 
 So Nature deals with us, and takes away 
 Our playthings one by one, and by the 
 hand 
 Leads us to rest so gently, that we go 
 Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, 
 Being too full of sleep to understand 
 How far the unknown transcends the 
 what we know. 
 
 — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 [Hi] 
 
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 flfc 
 
THE DAY IS DONE 
 
 'HE day is done and the dark- 
 ness 
 Falls from the wings of 
 Night, 
 As a feather is wafted down- 
 ward 
 From an eagle in his flight. 
 
 I see the lights of the village 
 
 Gleam through the rain and the mist, 
 And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, 
 
 That my soul cannot resist : 
 
 A feeling of sadness and longing, 
 
 That is not akin to pain, 
 And resembles sorrow only 
 
 As the mist resembles the rain. 
 
 Come, read to me some poem, 
 Some simple and heartfelt lay, 
 
 That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
 And banish the thoughts of day. 
 
 Not from the grand old masters, 
 Not from the bards sublime, 
 
 Whose distant footsteps echo 
 Through the corridors of Time. 
 
 [ 142] 
 
 __ 
 
 MMlttBMMMtti 
 
 wm^^m 
 
 iMHMH 
 

 For, like strains of martial music, 
 Their mighty thoughts suggest 
 
 Life's endless toil and endeavor ; 
 And to-night I long for rest. 
 
 Read from some humbler poet, 
 
 Whose songs gushed from his heart, 
 
 As showers from the clouds of summer 
 Or tears from the eyelids start ; 
 
 Who, through long days of labor, 
 
 And nights devoid of ease, 
 Still heard in his soul the music 
 
 Of wonderful melodies. 
 
 Such songs have power to quiet 
 
 The restless pulse of care, 
 And come like the benediction 
 
 That follows after prayer. 
 
 Then read from the treasured volume 
 
 The poem of thy choice, 
 And lend to the rhyme of the poet 
 
 The beauty of thy voice ; 
 
 And the night shall be filled with music, 
 And the cares, that infest the day, 
 
 Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
 And as silently steal away. 
 
 — Henry WadsworthLong fellow. 
 
 [143] 
 
 «Mi 
 
 
 
CROSSING THE BAR 
 
 UNSET and evening star, 
 And one clear call for me ! 
 And may there be no moaning 
 of the bar, 
 When I put out to sea. 
 
 But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
 
 Too full for sound and foam, 
 When that which drew from out the 
 boundless deep 
 
 Turns again home. 
 
 Twilight and evening bell 
 
 And after that the dark ! 
 And may there be no sadness of farewell, 
 
 When I embark ; 
 
 For tho' from out our bourne of Time and 
 Place 
 The flood may bear me far, 
 I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
 When I have cross'd the bar. 
 
 — Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
 
 [i44] 
 
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 ^iMi 
 
 *4 
 
INDEX TO AUTHORS 
 
 Adams, Sabah Flower 131 
 
 Bayly, Thomas Haynes 41 
 
 Bonae, Andbew 70 
 
 Beooks, Phillips Ill 
 
 Bbowning, Elizabeth Baeeett . 19, 27, 33, 
 
 113, 133 
 
 Beowning, Eobebt 34, 59, 130 
 
 Buenett, Thomas 42 
 
 Buens, Eobebt 31, 37 
 
 Carey, H 79 
 
 Caey, Phcebe 15 
 
 Coleeidge, Hartley 14 
 
 Douglas 77 
 
 Dwight, John Sullivan 58 
 
 Geay, Thomas 97 
 
 Heeeick, Bobeet 39, 110 
 
 Higman, Maey 30 
 
 Hood, Thomas 82, 92 
 
 Houghton, Loed 24 
 
 Hunt, Leigh 29, 90 
 
 [145] 
 
 ^mm 
 
Jonson, Ben 36 
 
 KlNGSLEY, CHARLES 13, 26 
 
 Kipling, Budyard 136 
 
 Lindsay, M 28 
 
 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 57, 141, 142 
 
 Lowell, James Eussell 10 
 
 Lyte, Henry Francis 138 
 
 MacDonald, George ...... 9, 88 
 
 Manville, Marion 21 
 
 Matheson, George 129 
 
 Moore, Thomas 17, 95, 108 
 
 Newman, John Henry 126 
 
 Pope, Alexander 94 
 
 Eossetti, Christina G 53, 55 
 
 Eossetti, Dante Gabriel 119 
 
 Shakespeare, William .... 6, 85, 87 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe 86 
 
 Sidney, Philip 16 
 
 Stevenson, Eobert Louis 51 
 
 Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 45, 114, 117, 128, 144 
 
 Whittier, John Greenleaf ..... 49 
 
 Wolfe, 83 
 
 Wordsworth, William 7, 75 
 
 [146] 
 
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INDEX TO TITLES AND FIRST 
 LINES 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem 90 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem, may his tribe increase . 90 
 
 Abide With Me 138 
 
 Abide with me,! fast falls the even-tide . . 138 
 
 A good wife rose from her bed one morn . 42 
 
 A kindly deed 52 
 
 And so I find it well to come 49 
 
 As a fond mother, when the day is o'er . . 141 
 
 At the midnight, in the silence .... 34 
 
 Baby 88 
 
 Believe Me, If All Those Endearing 
 
 Young Charms 17 
 
 Believe me, if all those endearing young 
 
 charms 17 
 
 Beside the home fire's cheerful glow ... 50 
 
 Better to sit at the water's birth .... 9 
 
 Better to have the love of one 29 
 
 Be True 70 
 
 Bid me to live, and I will live ...... 39 
 
 Blessed Damozel, The 119 
 
 Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind ... 85 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind 85 
 
 Break, Break, Break 128 
 
 Break, break, break, on thy cold grey 
 
 stones, O sea 128 
 
 [147] 
 
Bbook, The 114 
 
 Bbookside, The 24 
 
 Burial of Sib John Moobe at Cobunna, 
 
 The 83 
 
 Canadian Boat-Song, A 95 
 
 Celestial Subgeon, The 51 
 
 Cheeb and Joy Be Thine 50 
 
 Comfobt 113 
 
 Counsel to Gibls 110 
 
 Cbadle Song 45 
 
 Cbossing the Bab 144 
 
 Daffodils 75 
 
 Day Is Done, The 142 
 
 Ditty, A 16 
 
 Do all the good you can 48 
 
 Dolcino to Mabgabet 26 
 
 Do you remember when you heard ... 41 
 
 DoYoubDuty . . , 73 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes .... 36 
 
 Elegy Wbitten in a Countby Chubch- 
 
 yabd 97 
 
 Epilogue— To Asolando 34 
 
 Fain would I change that note 8 
 
 Faintly as tolls the evening chime .... 95 
 
 First time he kissed me 27 
 
 Folded hands are ever weary 73 
 
 Fob A? That and A> That 31 
 
 Gather ye rosebuds while ye may . . . . 110 
 
 God Be With You 55 
 
 [148] 
 
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God Keep You Safe 30 
 
 God keep you safe, my love 30 
 
 God of our fathers, known of old .... 136 
 
 Grow old along with me 59 
 
 Happy the man, whose wish and care . . 94 
 How little it costs, if we give it a thought . 72 
 
 I come from haunts of coot and hern . . . 114 
 
 I never crossed your threshold with a grief . 5 
 
 I remember, I remember 92 
 
 I think true love is never blind .... 15 
 
 I wandered by the brookside 24 
 
 I wandered lonely as a cloud 75 
 
 I would flood your path with sunshine . . 56 
 
 If any little love of mine 46 
 
 If I have faltered more or less 51 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty 31 
 
 Just a sprig of Scottish heather .... 21 
 
 Kindly Deed, A 52 
 
 Kind Word, A 72 
 
 Lead, Kindly Light 126 
 
 Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling 
 
 gloom 126 
 
 Let me not, to the marriage of true minds . 6 
 
 Light of Other Days, The 108 
 
 Love 29 
 
 Loving Word, A 54 
 
 Lucy 7 
 
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Maiden, A 14 
 
 Many a heart is hungry, starving .... 71 
 
 Maxwelton Braes 77 
 
 Maxwelton braes are bonnie ..... 77 
 
 Memory 87 
 
 My Love 10 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his 16 
 
 Music 86 
 
 Music, when soft voices die 86 
 
 Nature 141 
 
 Nearer, My God, to Thee 131 
 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee 131 
 
 No Failure or Defeat 74 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note . 83 
 
 Not as all other women are 10 
 
 O Little Town of Bethlehem .... Ill 
 
 O little town of Bethlehem Ill 
 
 O Love, That Wilt Not Let Me Go . . 129 
 
 O love, that wilt not let me go 129 
 
 O my heart's heart and you who are to me . 55 
 
 Of all the girls that are so smart .... 79 
 
 Of all the thoughts of God that are . . . 133 
 
 Oft in the stilly night 108 
 
 Old, Old Song, The 13 
 
 Omnia Vincit 8 
 
 Past and Present . 92 
 
 Pippa Passes 130 
 
 Quiet Boom, The 49 
 
 [ISO] 
 
Eabbi Ben Ezra 59 
 
 Eecessional 136 
 
 Rest 58 
 
 Rest is not quitting 58 
 
 Ring Out, Wild Bells 117 
 
 Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky . . . 117 
 
 Ruth 82 
 
 Sally In Our Alley 79 
 
 She is not fair to outward view 14 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways . . 7 
 
 She stood breast-high amid the corn ... 82 
 
 Sleep, The 133 
 
 Solitude 94 
 
 Song 53 
 
 Song of the Heart, A 46 
 
 Sonnet, A 33 
 
 Sonnet 27 
 
 Sonnets From the Portuguese ... 19 
 
 Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet 113 
 
 Sprig of Heather, A 21 
 
 Stay, Stay at Home 57 
 
 Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest . . 57 
 
 Sunset and evening star 144 
 
 Sweet and low, sweet and low 45 
 
 Sympathy 47 
 
 Take time to speak a loving word . . 
 The blessed damozel leaned out . . . 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day 
 The day is done and the darkness . . . 
 
 [i5i] 
 
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 IMM 
 
The world goes up and the world goes down 26 
 
 The year's at the spring t -. 130 
 
 Then hide it not, the music of thy soul . . 47 
 
 Then take this honey for the bitterest cup . 74 
 
 Thou Lingering Star 37 
 
 Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray . . 37 
 
 Thou must be true thyself 70 
 
 Thy love shall chant its own beatitudes . . 33 
 
 Thy Voice Is Near Me 28 
 
 Thy voice is near me in my dreams ... 28 
 
 To Anthea 39 
 
 To Celia . 36 
 
 True Friendship 5 
 
 True Love 6, 15 
 
 Well of Love, A 9 
 
 Wesley's Eule 48 
 
 When all the world is young, lad .... 13 
 
 When I am dead, my dearest 53 
 
 When our two souls stand up, erect and 
 
 strong 19 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 87 
 
 Where did you come from, baby dear . . 88 
 
 Where Love Is 42 
 
 Word of Cheer, A 56 
 
 Word of Love, A 71 
 
 You'll Love Me— Won't You?. ... 41 
 
 [152] 
 
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OCT 27 WW 
 
 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Jan. 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
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