English

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.

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!

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,

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.

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,

" THE HAND that rocks the cradle " — but there is no such hand;
It is bad to rock the baby, they would have us understand;
So the cradle's but a relic of the former foolish days
When mothers reared their children in unscientific ways —
When they jounced them and they bounced them, these poor dwarfs of long ago —
The Washingtons and Jeffersons and Adamses, you know.

They warn us that the baby will possess a muddled brain
If we dandle him or rock him — we must carefully refrain;
He must lie in one position, never swayed and never swung,

The Hand of Art here torpid lies
That wav'd th' essential Form of Grace,
Here death has clos'd the curious eyes
That saw the manners in the face.
If Genius warm thee, Reader, stay,
If Merit touch thee, shed a tear,
Be Vice and Dulness far away
Great Hogarth's honour'd Dust is here.

Hallowed be Thy name — Halleluiah! —
Infinite Ideality
Immeasurable Reality!
Infinite Personality!
Hallowed be Thy name — Halleluiah!

We feel we are nothing — for all is Thou and in Thee;
We feel we are something — that also has come from Thee;
We know we are nothing — but Thou wilt help us to be.
Hallowed be Thy name — Halleluiah!

The hallow days o Yule are come,
The nights are lang an dark,
An in an cam her ain twa sons,
Wi their hats made o the bark.

" O eat an drink, my merry men a,"
The better shall ye fare,
For my twa sons the are come hame
To me for evermair."

O she has gaen an made their bed,
An she 's made it saft an fine,
An she 's happit them wi her gay mantel,
Because they were her ain.

O the young cock crew i the merry Linkem,
An the wild fowl chirpd for day;
The aulder to the younger did say,