Awake, awake, good people all,
Awake and you shall hear
That Christ has died for our sins
For He loved us so dear.

So dearly, so dearly has Christ loved us
And for our sins was slain;
Christ bids us leave off our wickedness
And turn to the Lord again.

The early cock so early crows,
That is passing the night away,
For the trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised,
Lord, at the great judgment day.

A branch of may I have brought to you,
And at your door it stands;
It is but a sprout, but it's well budded out

The winning maid that I have won
Of womankind's the very sun,
That in her dazzling day-light hides
The duller maids I know besides,
Like twinkling stars all wan and weak
That wane from morning's golden streak.
Her soul's as pure's the lofty light
The lark sings in at greatest height;
Her love's as true as low-cast shades
To lofty suns above the glades;
And she is to be woo'd and won
By one alone below the sun;
And God has met my heart to make
A maid so fair for my poor sake,
And did not either bring her on

Awake! arise, ye men of might!
The glorious hour is nigh, —
Your eagle pauses in his flight,
And screams his battle-cry.

From North to South, from East to West:
Send back an answering cheer,
And say farewell to peace and rest,
And banish doubt and fear.

Arm! arm! your country bids you arm!
Fling out your banners free —
Let drum and trumpet sound alarm,
O'er mountains, plain, and sea.

March onward from th' Atlantic shore,
To Rio Grande's tide —
Fight as your fathers fought of yore!

A WAKE ! arise! shake off thy dreams!
Thou art not what thou wert of yore:
Of all those rich, those dazzling beams,
That once illum'd thine aspect o'er
Show me a solitary one
Whose glory is not quenched and gone.

The harp remaineth where it fell,
With mouldering frame and broken chord;
Around the song there hangs no spell —
No laurel wreath entwines the sword;
And startlingly the footstep falls
Along thy dim and dreary halls.

When other men in future years,
In wonder ask, how this could be?

1. Aw, Sally Brown, I been a long while acourtin' ya,
Way, hay roll and go! Aw, Sally Brown, I been along
while acourtin' ya, Spent my money on
Sally Brown.

2 Aw, Sally Brown, you know you didn't ought to do,
Aw, Sally Brown, well, you know you didn't ought to do,

3 You ought not to court of the sailormen,
Oh, Sally Brown, you ought not to court of the sailormen.

4 Now, for fourteen years have I been courtin'ya!
Oh, for fourteen long years now have I been courtin'ya. . . .

5 Well, Sally dear, you knows how I loves you!

Avoid the reeking herd,
Shun the polluted flock,
Live like that stoic bird,
The eagle of the rock.

The huddled warmth of crowds
Begets and fosters hate;
He keeps, above the clouds,
His cliff inviolate.

When flocks are folded warm,
And herds to shelter run,
He sails above the storm,
He stares into the sun.

If in the eagle's track
Your sinews cannot leap,
Avoid the lathered pack,
Turn from the steaming sheep.

If you would keep your soul
From spotted sight or sound,
Live like the velvet mole;

Avast, honest Jack! now, before you get mellow,
Come tip us that stave just, my hearty old fellow,
'Bout the young commodore, and his fresh-water crew,
Who keel haul'd the Britons, and captured a few.

" 'T was just at sunrise, and a glorious day,
Our squadron at anchor snug in Put-in-Bay,
When we saw the bold Britons, and cleared for a bout,
Instead of put in, by the Lord we put out.

" Up went union-jack, never up there before,
" Don't give up the ship" was the motto it bore;
And as soon as that motto our gallant lads saw,

Autumn winds blow along the river,
blow upon a man in hunger;
he has a wife lovely as a flower,
but no means to put food on her plate!
Toward sunset with great clamor
a grain barge moors in the harbor.
The officer in charge sits at the prow;
gazing about, he sees the lovely face.
He sends a man with an urgent message:
" I have plenty of clothes and food.
You are going to starve to death —
why not join me, and we'll work together.
Work with me for one year,
and I'll send you home for a fee.
Work with me for three years,

Autumn wind rises; white clouds fly
Grass and trees wither; geese go south
Orchids, all in bloom; chrysanthemums smell sweet.
I think of my lovely lady; I never can forget.
Floating pagoda boat crosses Fen River;
Cross the mid-stream white waves rise.
Flute and drum keep time to sound of rowers' song;
Amidst revel and feasting sad thoughts come;
Youth's years how few, age how sure!

Autumn: the ninth year of Yüan Ho;
The eighth month, and the moon swelling her arc;
It was then I travelled to the Temple of Wu-chen,
A temple terraced on Wang Shun's Hill.
While still the mountain was many leagues away,
Of scurrying waters we heard the plash and fret.
From here the traveller, leaving carriage and horse,
Begins to wade through the shallows of the Blue Stream,
His hand pillared on a green holly-staff,
His feet treading the torrent's white stones.
A strange quiet stole on ears and eyes,