Oh think, when a hero is sighing,
What danger in such an adorer!
What woman can dream of denying
The hand that lays laurels before her?
NOheart is so guarded around,
But the smile of the victor will take it;
No bosom can slumber so sound,
But the trumpet of glory will wake it.

Love sometimes is given to sleeping,
And woe to the heart that allows him;
For oh, neither smiling nor weeping
Has power at those moments to rouse him.
But tho' he was sleeping so fast,
That the life almost seemed to forsake him,

SLEEP! the spirits that attend
On thy waking hours are fled.
Heaven thou canst not now offend
Till thy slumber-plumes are shed;
Consciousness alone doth lend
Life its pain, and Death its dread;
Innocence and Peace befriend
All the sleeping and the dead.

This lost, lost world for Jesus!
'Twas heav'n he put aside;
On earth he walked incarnate,
Was scourged and crucified,
Then let the King Imanuel,
Who left for us a throne,
Return and take possession,
Return and claim his own.
This lost, lost world for Jesus!
From where the rising sun
Lights up the orient mankind
To where his course is run;
He is the world's Redeemer,
Let all beneath the skies
Speak back to him, one language
In hymns of praise arise.
This lost, lost world for Jesus!
The word that gave it birth

Midst the scant foliage of an old, gnarled tree
Outside my door,
The birds are joyous as spring birds can be,
And there outpour
A longer sweetness than the rich in green
Hear from their choristers less often seen.

When we are old, with graces almost gone;
Like birds in spring
Within us, still, may fresh young hopes sing on
With resting wing;
And in full sunshine of our second May
The happy children love to sing and play!

The wind, stirring in the dark foliage, brings
Songs to me of the wakeful nightingale;
At intervals a stranger music rings.
Whence are these voices that now light,
Now deeply echo from the night
And now of their own beauty fail?

The apple bough of white
That at my open window rocks and sways,
Against the pane its dewy blossom lays,
Shines magically in the blanchèd light,
A sabbath radiance covers all the ways;
My vision waxes vast and wide:

Oh, there arises now a solemn tide
For those who live in dreams, the delicate

“That humble, simple duty of the day
—Perform,” he bids; “ask not if small or great:
Serve in thy post; be faithful and obey;
—Who serves her truly, sometimes serves the State.”

“That humble, simple duty of the day
Perform,” he bids; “ask not if small or great:
Serve in thy post; be faithful and obey;
Who serves her truly, sometimes serves the State.”

One heart
Which has been obdurate
From black hair
Until white
Now I shall never melt!

“Remember me” implored the Thief!
Oh Hospitality!
My Guest “Today in Paradise”
I give thee guaranty.

That Courtesy will fair remain
When the Delight is Dust
With which we cite this mightiest case
Of compensated Trust.

Of all we are allowed to hope
But Affidavit stands
That this was due where most we fear
Be unexpected Friends.

Good schoolmaster, pray give your classes a rest,
If you do, I will ask that next term you be pressed
By curly-haired boys flocking next to your table,
And no short-hand clerk or quick counter be able
To boast that he has a more studious crew
Of pupils and fonder of teacher than you.
The hot sunny days are upon us again,
And blazing July burns the ripening grain,
So let your grim rod and your whip, put to sleep,
Till the Ides of October a holiday keep.
In summer if children can only stay well,
They learn quite enough and can rest for a spell.

With many a weary step, at length I gain
Thy summit, Lansdown; and the cool breeze play
Gratefully round my brow, as hence I gaze
Back on the fair expanse of yonder plain.
'Twas a long way and tedious; to the eye
Though fair the extended vale, and fair to view
The autumnal leaves of many a faded hue,
That eddy in the wild gust moaning by,
Even so it fared with life: in discontent
Restless through Fortune's mingled scenes I went
Yet wept to think they would return no more.
But cease, fond heart, in such sad thoughts to roam