English

Lyke as the armed knyght
Appoynted to the fielde
With thys world wyll I fyght
And fayth shall be my shielde.
faythe is that weapon stronge
Whych wyll not fayle at nede
My foes therfor amonge
Therwith wyll I procede.
As it is had in strengthe
And force of Christes waye
It wyll prevayle at lengthe
Though all the devyls saye naye.
faythe in the fathers olde
Obtayned ryghtwysnesse
Which make me verye bolde.
To feare no worldes dystresse.
I now rejoyce in hart
And hope byd me do so

Here rests a Pattern of the Female Life,
The Woman, Friend, the Mother, and the Wife.
A Woman form'd by Nature, more than Art,
With smiling Ease to gain upon the Heart.
A Friend as true as Guardian-Angels are,
Kindness her Law, Humanity her Care.
A Mother sweetly tender, justly dear,
Oh! never to be nam'd without a Tear.
A Wife of every social Charm possest,
Blessing her Husbands—In her Husbands blest.
Love in her Heart, Compassion in her Eyes,
Her Thoughts as humble, as her Virtues high.

My Chinese uncle, gouty, deaf, half-blinded,
And more than a trifle absent-minded,
Astonished all St James's Square one day
By giving long and unexceptionably exact directions
To a little coolie girl, who'd lost her way.

She gave her body for my meat,
Her soul to be my wine,
And prayed that I be made complete
In sunlight and starshine.

With such abandoned grace she gave
Of all that passion taught her,
She never knew her tidal wave
Cast bread on stagnant water.

If the Soufi drink with measure, Sweet to him its zest still be!
Else the thought thereof forgotten Of the wight were best still be.

And that one who on his fellows Can a single draught bestow,
May the loveling of his wishes To his bosom prest still be!

Quoth our elder, “Nought of error Can Creation's pen betide.”
May the insight of that pure one, Error-cov'ring, blest still be!

To the enemies' suggestion Hearkened erst the Turkman king:
Siyawésh's blood, the guiltless, Of his shame attest still be!

Nat Jones had been a-readin' 'bout the novelists of late
That made enough to corner half the country's real estate;
'Bout the hundred thousand copies that the sufferin' public took,
An' says he: “I've 'bout decided I wuz born to write a book!

“It 'll help to paint the homestead, send the children all to school,
Buy Sally a pianner, take the mortgage off the mule.
Too long I've hid my talents, jest encumberin' the groun'
They'll be runnin' me fer congress ef I keep a-loafin' 'roun'!”

Would you know the Forest's Deeper Joys?
Camp beneath the Stars that make no Noise.

Use little Chips and Twigs to start the Fire
And Great Logs only when the Flame leaps higher.

T HE Camper-out who hopes to have his Share
Of Sleep at Night, should make his Bed with Care.

T HE Faithful Lover of the Woods remembers
To clean his Camp and quench the Campfire's Embers.

B EFORE you leave the Camp that gave you Rest,
Pile up more Wood to warm the Coming Guest.

There was a fause knicht in the court,
And he was fu o treacherie,
And he staw the queen's jewels in the nicht,
And left the wyte on Jamie O'Lee.

The king he wrate a braid letter,
And sealed it richt tenderlie,
And he sent it to his only son,
To come and speak to him speedilie.

When he cam afore the king,
He kneeled low down on his knee:
‘What is your will, my sovereign leige?
What is your will? cum tell to me.’

‘Jamie O'Lee has my jewels stown,
As the English lord tells unto me,

'T IS Sabbath morn, and a holy balm
Drops down on the heart like dew,
And the sunbeam's gleam like a blessèd dream
Afar on the mountains blue.
Old Hannah's by her cottage door,
In her faded widow's cap;
She is sitting alone on the old grey stone,
With the Bible in her lap.

An oak is hanging above her head,
And the burn is wimpling by;
The primroses peep from their sylvan keep,
And the lark is in the sky.
Beneath that shade her children played,
But they're all away with Death,

The young, the lovely, pass away,
Ne'er to be seen again;
Earth's fairest flowers too soon decay;
Its blasted trees remain.

Full oft, we see the brightest thing
That lifts its head on high,
Smile in the light, then droop its wing,
And fade away, and die.

And kindly is the lesson given;
Then dry the falling tear:
They came to raise our hearts to Heaven;
They go to call us there.