FROM the green Amesbury hill whi… Of that half mythic ancestor of mi… Who trod its slopes two hundred ye… Down the long valley of the Merri… Midway between me and the river’s…

Our vales are sweet with fern and… Our hills are maple-crowned; But not from them our fathers chos… The village burying-ground. The dreariest spot in all the land

Behind us at our evening meal The gray bird ate his fill, Swung downward by a single claw, And wiped his hooked bill. He shook his wings and crimson tai…

GOD bless New Hampshire! from he… Once more the voice of Stark and… The long-bound vassal of the exult… For very shame her self-forged cha… Turn the black seal of slavery fro…

As a guest who may not stay Long and sad farewells to say Glides with smiling face away, Of the sweetness and the zest Of thy happy life possessed

How bland and sweet the greeting o… To him who flies From crowded street and red wall’s… Till far behind him like a hideous… The close dark city lies

The elder folks shook hands at las… Down seat by seat the signal passe… To simple ways like ours unused, Half solemnized and half amused, With long-drawn breath and shrug,…

IN Westminster’s royal halls, Robed in their pontificals, England’s ancient prelates stood For the people’s right and good. Closed around the waiting crowd,

“All hail!” the bells of Christma… “All hail!” the monks at Christma… The merry monks who kept with chee… The gladdest day of all their year… But still apart, unmoved thereat,

The flags of war like storm birds… The charging trumpets blow; Yet rolls no thunder in the sky, No earthquake strives below. And, calm and patient, Nature kee…

Somehow not only for Christmas But all the long year through, The joy that you give to others Is the joy that comes back to you. And the more you spend in blessing

Thrice welcome from the Land of F… And golden-fruited orange bowers To this sweet, green-turfed June… To her who, in our evil time, Dragged into light the nation’s cr…

TO E. W. I KNOW not, Time and Space so i… Whether, still waiting with a trus… Thou bearest up thy fourscore year… Or, called at last, art now Heave…

Dark the halls, and cold the feast… Gone the bridemaids, gone the prie… All is over, all is done, Twain of yesterday are one! Blooming girl and manhood gray,

Out from Jerusalem The king rode with his great War chiefs and lords of state, And Sheba’s queen with them; Comely, but black withal,