AT the Last Day while all the re… Are soundly sleeping underground, He will be up clean-shaved and dre… An hour before the Trumpets sound…

THERE is no gleam of glory gone, For those who read in Nature’s Bo… No lack of triumph in their look Who stand in Her Eternal Dawn. Friends of a failing Faith! while…

‘TIS hard to die in Spring-time, When, to mock our bitter need, All life around runs over In its fullness without heed: New life for tiniest twig on tree,

No green age, beautiful to see, Hath Poor Old Gran! No ripe life mellowed goldenly Hath Poor Old Gran! One by one we have left her fold,

Surrounded by unnumbered Foes, Against my soul the battle goes! Yet though I weary, sore-distress… I know that I shall reach my Rest… I lift my tearful eyes above,—

We thank Thee, Lord, for one day To look Heaven in the face! The Poor have only Sunday; The sweeter is the grace. 'Tis then they make the music

TRUE Poets conquer Glory—do not… It; do not beg their way to Fame; Nor at her skirts in private bend… Nor sow the public broadcast with… They are the great High Priests o…

The tender green that laughs out i… And drinks the freshness of the de… Must take the cloud of dust that t… And burnish every tiny blade again… The river into which heaven cometh…

The Delian diver wrecked her life… A pearl she saw by Visionary glea… And died with empty hand that coul… The treasure only Real in her dre…

You perfect, pure, original, Writ in a tongue unknown to all; Translated, in some other sphere, You may be read; but will not here…

There lives a voice within me, a g… And its sweet lispings win me, til… Up evermore it springeth, like som… And evermore it singeth this sweet… This world is full of beauty, as o…

FATHER in Heaven, we seek Thy… When darkness is our dwelling-plac… Our foolish hearts, that daily roa… Would nightly nestle with Thee at… Be with us Here, and grant that w…

WHEN the merry spring-tide Floods all the land; Nature hath a Mother’s heart, Gives with open hand; Flowers running up the lane

WE read your Letters! no word los… All, all is rememberèd; And often when there comes no Pos… Once more are the old ones read. Of all she did we love to hear,

Who would not wish the Dead were… If we can dry the mourners’ tear? Who would not pray the Dead may s… When starving Orphans wake to wee…