English

Breake now my heart and dye! Oh no, she may relent.
Let my despaire prevayle! Oh stay, hope is not spent.
Should she now fixe one smile on thee, where were despaire?
The losse is but easie which smiles can repayre.
A stranger would please thee, if she were as fayre.

Her must I love or none, so sweet none breathes as shee;
The more is my despayre, alas, shee loves not mee:
But cannot time make way for love through ribs of steele?
The Grecian, inchanted all parts but the heele,
At last a shaft daunted, which his hart did feele.

Break thou the bread of life,
Dear Lord, to me,
As thou dids't break the loaves
Beside the sea;
Beyond the sacred page
I seek Thee, Lord;
My spirit thirsts for Thee,
O Living Word.
Bless Thou the truth, dear Lord,
To me, to me,
As Thou didst bless the loaves
By Galilee;
Then shall all bondage cease,
All fetters fall;
And I shall find my peace,
My all in all.

Break not his sweet repose—
Thou whom chance brings to this sequestered ground,
The sacred yard his ashes close,
But go thy way in silence; here no sound
Is ever heard but from the murmuring pines,
Answering the sea's near murmur;
Nor ever here comes rumor
Of anxious world or war's foregathering signs.
The bleaching flag, the faded wreath,
Mark the dead soldier's dust beneath,
And show the death he chose;
Forgotten save by her who weeps alone,
And wrote his fameless name on this low stone:

The bread that giveth strength I want to give;
The water pure that bids the thirsty live;
I want to help the fainting day by day,
Because I shall not pass again this way.

I want to give the oil of joy for tears;
The faith to conquer cruel doubts and fears;
Beauty for ashes may I give alway,
Because I shall not pass again this way.

I want to give good measure running o'er,
And into angry hearts I want to pour
The answer soft that turneth wrath away,
Because I shall not pass again this way.

Bread is a lovely thing to eat —
God bless the barley and the wheat!

A lovely thing to breathe is air —
God bless the sunshine everywhere!

The earth's a lovely place to know —
God bless the folks that come and go!

Alive's a lovely thing to be —
Giver of life — we say — bless Thee!

The brave young city by the Balboa seas
Lies compassed about by the hosts of night —
Lies humming, low, like a hive of bees;
And the day lies dead. And its spirit's flight
Is far to the west; while the golden bars
That bound it are broken to a dust of stars.

Come under my oaks, oh, drowsy dusk!
The wolf and the dog; dear in hour
When Mother Earth hath a smell of musk,
And things of the spirit assert their power —
When candles are set to burn in the west —
SeThead and foot to the day at rest.

Brave Teuton, though thy awful name
Is one no common rhyme can mimic,
Though in despair the trump of Fame
Evades thy painful patronymic —
Though orators forego thy praise,
And timid bards by tongue or pen ig-
Nore thee — thus alone I raise
Thy name in song, my Schemmelfennig!

What though no hecatombs may swell
With mangled forms thy path victorious;
Though Charleston to thee bloodless fell,
Wert thou less valiant or less glorious?
Thou took'st tobacco — cotton — grain —

Brave men have followed
My irresistible
Beauty and magic:
Comradeship, loyalty,
High hearts' devotion
Shone in their faces
Fixed on my stars.

Tattered and blood-stained
In halls of honor,
I dream of my lovers
Whom I misled.

Cleansed of the blood-stain,
In the new morning
I call afar.

Not in one land alone,
Not in one tongue alone,
Not through one only flag,
Comes the new Word.

Leave the old death-dealing,
Leave the old fearing,
Lead on to life-giving—

Brave man and brave woman,
With brave and honest heart,
And with their money will not part,
Will make life a grand success.

I know what it is to labor hard;
And with pluck and ambition
And womanly brain I ventured out
And aspired to learn a trade.

Of laundress and French cleaning
I learned the trade, worked hard,
And strict attention to business paid,
And found it worth while to learn a trade,

If you have no wealth, don't be sad,
Take if for your lot, don't think it bad,

Brave flowers, that I could gallant it like you
And be as little vain!
You come abroad, and make a harmless show,
And to your beds of earth again;
You are not proud, you know your birth,
For your embroidered garments are from earth.

You do obey your months, and times, but I
Would have it ever spring;
My fate would know no winter, never die,
Nor think of such a thing.
Oh that I could my bed of earth but view,
And smile, and look as cheerfully as you!

Oh teach me to see death, and not to fear,