English

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
All the bells are ringing,
Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
'Tis a holiday.

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
All the birds are singing,
Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
Let's go out and play.

Dimpled and flushed and dewy pink he lies,
Crumpled and tossed and lapt in snowy bands;
Aimlessly reaching with his tiny hands,
Lifting in wondering gaze his great blue eyes.
Sweet pouting lips, parted by breathing sighs;
Soft cheeks, warm-tinted as from tropic lands;
Framed with brown hair in shining silken strands,—
All fair, all pure, a sunbeam from the skies!
O perfect innocence! O soul enshrined
In blissful ignorance of good or ill,
By never gale of idle passion crossed!
Although thou art no alien from thy kind,

Dim the light in your faces: be passionless in the room.
Snuffed are the tapers, and bitterly hang on the flowerless air:
See: and this is the image of her they will lay in the tomb;
Clear, and waxen, and cooled in the mass of her hair.

Quiet the tears in your voices: feel lightly, finger, for finger
In love: then see how like is the image, but lifelessly fashioned
And sightless, calm, unloving. Who is the Artist? Linger
And ponder whither has flitted his sitter impassioned.

The dim light to the sou'ward
Is the beacon of the coast,
But the white light to the leeward
The mariner loves most.
And whether 'tis the dim light
Or the white light to the lee,
That great big hunk of daylight
Is light of lights for me.
But what it is of all lights
That fills my soul with glee,
Is when that hunk of daylight
Climbs up out of the sea.

Dignified things, may I your leaves implore
To kiss your hands and your high heads adore?
Judges you are — but you are something more.
May I draw near and with a rough-hewed pen
Give a small draft of you, the worst of men,
Tell of your merits and your mighty skill
And how your charms all courts of justice fill?
Your laws, far stronger than the Commons' votes,
So finely flow from your dispensing throats,
What Rome will ask, you must not her deny,
If Hell command you, too, you must comply!

It is the past that maketh my despair;
The dark, the sad, the irrevocable past.
Alas! why should our lot in life be made,
Before we know that life? Experience comes,
But comes too late. If I could now recall
All that I now regret, how different
Would be my choice! at best a choice of ill;
But better than my miserable past.
Loathed, yet despised, why must Ithink of it?

Die not, fond man, before thy day.
Love's cold December
Will surrender
To succeeding jocund May.
And then, oh, then, sorrow shall cease;
Comforts abounding,
Cares confounding,
Shall conclude a happy peace.

The die is cast, and we must part,
Forgive me if I say we must;
Must make again exchange of heart,
But never more exchange of trust.
With faces cold and stern must meet,
While inward fires consume our souls,
Must pass as strangers in the street,
While o'er our hope the death bell tolls.

We met but a short while ago,
And all my sky was clouded o'er
You loved, and scattered all my woe,
Loved as I ne'er was loved before.
You taught my hungry heart to hope,
And filled love's chaliee to the brim,

VOICE of the nightingale,
Heard in the twilight vale,
Waking the silence to music and love;
Sweet is thy vesper vow,
Holy and tender now,
Worthy the spirits which list thee above.

Once, in complaining tone,
Notes that were Sorrow's own
Gush'd from thy breast as if thrill'd with some wrong;
Then, as if Hope sprang high,
Up to the choral sky
Swept thy full heart on the wings of thy song.

Hid in thy hermit-tree,
Musing in melody,

Didn't my Lord deliver Daniel,
D'liver Daniel, d'liver Daniel,
Didn't my Lord deliver Daniel,
And why not a every man?

He deliver'd Daniel from the lion's den,
Jonah from the belly of the whale,
And the Hebrew children from the fiery furnace,
And why not every man?

The moon run down in a purple-stream,
The sun forbear to shine,
And every star disappear,
King Jesus shall be mine.

The wind blows East, and the wind blows West,
It blows like the judgment day,