[1]

Heaven's MERCY shines, Wonders and Glorys meet;
Angels are lost in sweet surprize to see't.
The Circle of the Year is well near Run
Earth's- Conflagration is not yet begun.

[2]

Heaven spares the Bulwark of our Peace , King GEORGE;
Our CHARTER holds; and Privileges large.
Our GOVERNOUR and SENATORS can meet;
And Greet, and Join in Consultation sweet.

[3]

" Heavenly Father " — take to thee
The supreme iniquity
Fashioned by thy candid Hand
In a moment contraband —
Though to trust us — seem to us
More respectful — " We are Dust " —
We apologize to thee
For thine own Duplicity —

Night's wanderers! why hang ye there
With angel look so bright;
As if ye stooped, bright sons of air!
From some far distant height?

Ye gaze upon the sleeping earth,
Like mother o'er her child;
And ye too saw its infant birth,
And looked on it, and smiled.

And come ye now, when day grows dim,
To bend the listening ear;
And meet the heaven-ascending hymn
From hearts to you so dear?

Why hear I not that seraph voice,
That woke with earth's first morn;
And do ye not, bright ones, rejoice
As when ye saw it born?

Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true,
That a noble deed is a step toward God,
Lifting the soul from the common sod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by things that are 'neath our feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain,
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

Heaven is in my hand, and I
Touch a heart-beat of the sky,
Hearing a blackbird's cry.

Strange, beautiful, unquiet thing,
Lone flute of God, how can you sing
Winter to spring?

You have outdistanced every voice and word,
And given my spirit wings until it stirred
Like you — a bird!

Heaven is a fine place, a fine place entirely.
Oh, like Killarney in rose-time 'twill be,
With Mary in a blue gown flowered like the meadow,
And Little Christ as like a rose
As any rose you'd see.

Himself is high upon a throne; but Herself sits a-rocking
In a low rocking-chair, her babe on her knee.
Sure, now he'd go to sleep at once, and Herself a-crooning,
And not lie with his eyes wide
The way you'd treat me.

Now fasten down your eyelids and get you gone a-sleeping,
And in a little heart-beat in heaven you'll be,

Gather around thee treasures bright,
Bid the purple nectar flow;
Will these shine with heavenly light
On thy rayless night of woe?

Snatch the brightest wreath of fame,
Man has won from fellow worm;
It may prove a wreath of flame
Round thy brows for aye to burn.

Grasp the monarch's rod of power;
Seize the warrior's iron spear;
Bid death stay thy coming hour,
Think ye he those arms will fear?

What are these — the laurel crown,
Or the victor's bloody sword,
Or the monarch's darkest frown,
Or the miser's glittering hoard, —

Fleeting years are ever bearing
In their silent course away,
All that in our pleasures sharing,
Lent to life a cheering ray.

Beauty's cheek but blooms to wither,
Smiling hours but come to fly;
They are gone! Time's but the giver,
Of whate'er is doomed to die.

Thou mayst touch with blighting finger,
All that sense can here enjoy;
Yet within my soul shall linger,
That which thou canst not destroy.

Love's sweet voice shall there awaken,
Joys that earth cannot impart;
Joys that live, when thou hast taken

The heat acrost the desert was a-swimmin' in the sun,
When Waring of Sonora-town,
Jim Waring of Sonora-town,
From Salvador come ridin' down, a-rollin' of his gun.

He was singin' low an' easy to his pony's steady feet,
But his eye was live an' driftin'
Round the scenery an' siftin'
All the crawlin' shadows shiftin' in the tremblin' gray mesquite.

Eyes was watchin' from a hollow where a outlaw Chola lay:
Two black, snaky eyes, a-yearnin'
For Jim's hoss to make the turnin',

Hearts , like doors, will ope with ease
To very, very little keys,
And don't forget that two of these
Are “I thank you” and “If you please.”