Happy Song-sparrow, that on woodland side
Or by the meadow sits, and ceaseless sings
His mellow roundelay in russet pride,
Owning no care between his wings.

He has no tax to pay, nor work to do:
His round of life is ever a pleasant one;
For they are merry that may naught but woo
From yellow dawn till set of sun.

The verdant fields, the riverside, the road,
The cottage garden, and the orchard green,
When Spring with breezy footstep stirs abroad,
His modest mottled form have seen.

The cedar at the cottage door contains

Happy New Year! Happy New Year!
I've come to wish you a Happy New Year.
I've got a little pocket and it is very thin,
Please give me a penny to put some money in.
If you haven't got a penny, a halfpenny will do,
If you haven't got a halfpenny, well —
God Bless You!

The happy men that lose their heads
They find their heads in heaven
As cherub heads with cherub wings,
And cherub haloes even:
Out of the infinite evening lands
Along the sunset sea,
Leaving the purple fields behind,
The cherub wings beat down the wind
Back to the groping body and blind
As the bird back to the tree.

Whether the plumes be passion-red
For him that truly dies
By headsman's blade or battle-axe,
Or blue like butterflies,
For him that lost it in a lane
In April's fits and starts,
His folly is forgiven then:

Hast thou ever heard the voice of nature,
In the whirlwind's roar, the zephyr's gentle
Breath, in the fierce eagle's cry, when darting
Forth he seeks the spoiler of his nest,
In the soft whispering voice of love with
Which the dove salutes his mate? or hast thou
Seen nature put forth her force in various
Forms, the lightning rend the solid oak,
The lofty cedars bend like reeds before
The blast, the madden'd ocean lash the shore
With foam, or hast thou seen the rising sun,
When first he looks forth on a summer's day,

1. The happy day will soon appear, And we'll all shout to-
When Gabriel's trumpet you shall hear, And we'll all shout to-
gether in that morning;
Sweet morning, Sweet
gether in that morning.
morning, And we'll all shout together in the morning.

2. Behold the righteous marching home.
And we'll all shout together in that morning.
And all the angels bid them come.
And we'll all shout together in that morning.

A happy band on the hill slope
Were we that day, in high hope,
All at stretch and in good heart,
Resolute to play our part
With doughty deeds in winning fame
In men's mouths for Owain's name.
And there before the fray began,
In keen debate our talk ran
What part of profit each should gain
In booty when the foe was slain;
And ere a foeman hove in sight
Each averred, come what might,
Never yielding, he'd be found
Standing gloriously his ground.

While thus, after mirth and song,
We with our God debated long,

Happiness is like a crystal,
Fair and exquisite and clear,
Broken in a million pieces,
Shattered, scattered far and near.
Now and then along life's pathway,
Lo! some shining fragments fall;
But there are so many pieces
No one ever finds them all.

You may find a bit of beauty,
Or an honest share of wealth,
While another just beside you
Gathers honor, love or health.
Vain to choose or grasp unduly,
Broken is the perfect ball;
And there are so many pieces
No one ever finds them all.
Yet the wise as on they journey

Hanging from the beam,
Slowly swaying (such the law),
Gaunt the shadow on your green,
Shenandoah!
The cut is on the crown
(Lo, John Brown),
And the stabs shall heal no more.

Hidden in the cap
Is the anguish none can draw;
So your future veils its face,
Shenandoah!
But the streaming beard is shown
(Weird John Brown),
The meteor of the war.

Hang up those dull, and envious fools
That talk abroad of woman's change,
We were not bred to sit on stools,
Our proper virtue is to range:
Take that away, you take our lives,
We are no women then, but wives.

Such as in valour would excel
Do change, though man, and often fight,
Which we in love must do as well,
If ever we will love aright.
The frequent varying of the deed,
Is that which doth perfection breed.

Nor is't inconstancy to change
For what is better, or to make
(By searching) what before was strange,

Hang out your cloth, and let the trumpet sound;
Here's such a beast as Afric never owned;
A twisted brute, the satyr in the story,
That blows up the Whig heat and cools the Tory;
A state hermaphrodite, whose doubtful lust
Salutes all parties with an equal gust;
Like Iceland shoughs, he seems two natures joined,
Savage before and all betrimmed behind,
And the well-tutored curs like him will strain,
Come over for the king, and back again.
'Tis such a sphinx, the devil can't unriddle:
A human schism upward from the middle,