English

Light and dry,
Fit to the hand,
It's from an ancient locust.
A few blows:
Pure echoes
Penetrate pool and terrace.

Besides the mallet
The " fish-netting " of the mold
Is slick and sleek.
When you write a new poem
Perhaps you will send me a copy.

Blossoms of the plum
Gleam through fallen snow to-day.
Better let them stand!
I had gathered some for you —
But they melted in my hand.

All spring, my sorrows grew like lotus leaves,
now they wither and my autumn sadness grows.

Grief is as long and as wide as life.
I watch the autumn river. I listen to it flow.

Kun-shih, my pride, my son,
Is handsome and bright without a match.
In swaddling clothes, less than a year old,
He already could tell six from seven.
In his fourth year he knew his name,
And never cast his eyes on pears and chestnuts.
My friends and acquaintances often look at him
And say, “This child is a young phoenix!
Even in a previous age when looks were esteemed,
He would have been placed in the first class!”
Or else, “He has the air of an immortal!”
Or, “He has the bone structure of a swallow or a crane!”

(Ha Korol ar C'Hleze.)

Blood, wine, and glee,
Sun, to thee, —
Blood, wine, and glee!
Fire! fire! steel, Oh! steel!
Fire, fire! steel and fire!
Oak! oak, earth, and waves!
Waves, oak, earth and oak!

Glee of dance and song,
And battle-throng, —
Battle, dance, and song!
Fire! fire! steel, etc.

Let the sword blades swing
In a ring, —
Let the sword blades swing!

Blindest and most frantic prayer,
Clutching at a senseless boon,
His that begs, in mad despair,
Death to come; — he comes so soon!

Like a reveler that strains
Lip and throat to drink it up —
The last ruby that remains,
One red droplet in the cup,

Like a child that, sullen, mute,
Sulking spurns, with chin on breast,
Of the Tree of Life the fruit,
His gift of whom he is the guest,

Outcast on the thither shore,
Open scorn to him shall give
Souls that heavier burdens bore:

Blind man lay beside the way,
He could not see the light of day.
The Lord passed by and heard him say:
" O Lord, won't you help-a me!
O Lord, won't you help-a me! "

A man he died, was crucified,
They hung a thief on either side;
One lifted up his voice and cried:
" O Lord, won't you help-a me!
O Lord, won't you help-a me! "

A blind man lay by the way and cried,
" O Lord, won't you help-a me. "
And the thief cried out before he died,
" O Lord, won't you help-a me!

1. Blest is the man whose tender breast, Has for the
2. His heart contrives for their relief, More good than
suffering mourner felt, And while his hand relieves th'oppressed,
thousands could perform, This man in times of general grief,
He feels his soul with pity melt.
Shall find a shelter from the storm.

3. The Lord shall keep his soul alive,
Long shall he live, the blest of earth,
And like a plant celestial thrive,
Amid the pestilence and dearth.

4. When sick, the Lord shall stir his bed,

Of an Infant.

Blest Infant Bud, whose Blossome-life
Did only look about, and fal,
Wearyed out in a harmles strife
Of tears, and milk, the food of all;

Sweetly didst thou expire: Thy soul
Flew home unstain'd by his new kin,
For ere thou knew'st how to be foul,
Death wean'd thee from the world, and sin.

Softly rest all thy Virgin-Crums!
Lapt in the sweets of thy young breath,
Expecting till thy Saviour Comes
'To dresse them, and unswadle death.

1. Blest be the wondrous grace, That gives my soul a place With-
2. All good desires I owe, And mercies here below, And
in the mansions of thy love! That pardons all my sin, And
thoughts of grace, and hopes of heaven, To Him, whose suffering breath Still
makes me pure within, And writes my name in heaven above.
prayed for me in death, Whose precious blood for me was given.

3. Lord, bind me to thy sway,
And keep me every day,
Weaned from the world by thy dear cross,
May I, redeemed by grace,
Behold thy glorious face