A slender plank above a waterhole
planted on end to meet my wants,
I hear it whisper in the stock.
It does not sway a hair's breadth.

Another stake driven in and well shaved
points against the light from the layout.
The maple fits upon the joist like a flower,
a picked beam,
a great wood to plane and saw.

I tell my wife the walls are up,
the strips nailed at snug right angles,
the floors are oiled.
The Yankee poles are almost columns.

Braced against a gloomy magnitude,
I loiter civil on my soles and buffeted,

As those twelve spies, by Moses sent, returned
With clustered grapes—those glowing grapes that shook
Their globes of sunlight over Eschol's brook;
With smooth pomegranates that had slowly burned
Through golden rind with inner ruby fire;
And purple figs: so to the camp there came
Retief's two messengers who gladly bore
Of tropic fruits a goodly and welcome store—
Bananas brown and barred with yellow flame
Like the puff-adder's coat (that serpent dire
Which backward strikes), with paw-paws, green
As the bush-mamba's skin of emerald sheen,

As the prey-freighted eagle cleaves the storm
With potent wing; while at his scream and clang,
To warn his famished brood, the hollow hills
Reverberate far and near; beneath his flight
The valley darkens, and his cloudy form
Swims up the sward to meet him as he glides
Into his mountain-nest: so comes Manrique
The single fear of many a province round.
Robber and outlaw!—a mere jot of life
'Mid the still-standing rocks and precipices,
He moves right upward to his craggy dome
Scooped in the pinnacle. His horn, by times,

As the full moon shining there
To the sun that lighteth her
Am I unto thee for ever,
O my secret glory-giver!
O my light, I am dark but fair,
Black but fair.

Shine, Earth loves thee! And then shine
And be loved through thoughts of mine.
All thy secrets that I treasure
I translate them at my pleasure.
I am crowned with glory of thine,
Thine, not thine.

I make pensive thy delight,
And thy strong gold silver-white.
Though all beauty of mine thou makest,
Yet to earth which thou forsakest
I have made thee fair all night,

As fades the light of closing day,
As earth's fair flowers shut at even,—
So pass they from our paths away
Who led our infant feet to heaven.

The seed of living truth they sowed
Shall in a genial harvest rise,
And children gathered home to God
Be their bright honor in the skies.

Oh, happy they whose weekly toil
Prepares fresh gems in heaven to shine;
Such wealth no worldly ill can spoil,
Nor make its priceless worth decline.

Oh, happy they who, early taught
To give their hearts, O Lord, to Thee,

A MONG my thoughts I count it wonderful,
How foolishness in man should be so rife
That masterly he takes the world to wife
As though no end were set unto his rule:
In labour alway that his ease be full,
As though there never were another life;
Till Death throws all his order into strife,
And round his head his purposes doth pull.
And evermore one sees the other die,
And sees how all conditions turn to change,
Yet in no wise may the blind wretch be heal'd.
I therefore say, that sin can even estrange
Man's very sight, and his heart satisfy

A long road before me,
A long road behind,
A harsh day and crabbèd,
A humoursome wind.

No blackbird to sing me
The breath of a song.
My grief on the grey road
So lonesome and long!

But there at the cross roads
I happened to see
A kindly companion
To travel with me.

Colloguing together
The miles hurried by,
Till a wee rift of blue
Flung hope to the sky.

Now God bless the burden
That's shared with a friend,
And God bless the long road
With home at the end.

All hail, divine Compassion! see
Low at thy shrine, my bended knee!
Lend to my verse thy melting glow,
And all the tender plaintiveness of woe!

The man who feels when others grieve,
And loves the wretched to relieve,
Enjoys more true delight,
Than he, who in the fields of war
Triumphant rolls his thundering car,
And gains the laurels of the fight!
Than he, whom shouting realms proclaim,
The victor of mankind, the boast of Fame.

Sweet Compassion! noblest friend;
From thy native skies descend;
Gently breathing through the heart,

a light Out)
& first of all foam

-like hair spatters creasing pillow
next everywhere hidinglyseek
no o god dear wait sh please o no O
3rd Findingest whispers understand
sobs bigly climb what (love being some-
thing possibly more intricate) i (breath
in breath) have nicknamed ecstasy and And

spills smile cheaply thick

—who therefore Thee (once and once only, Queen
among centuries universes between
Who out of deeplyness rose to undeath)

salute. and having worshipped for my doom
pass ignorantly into sleep's bright land

Ai the call of the bugle, and the roll of the drum,
With the bold front of heroes our trained Rifles come,
All marshalled and marching to strains that inspire
And fan in each bosom the true martial fire.

Defenders of Britain—her chosen, her own,
Of danger she spake, and to arms ye have flown;
And bright eyes are beaming, and proud hearts beat high,
For the brave Volunteers marching gallantly by

Your movement is crowned with a glorious success,
Our good Queen approves, and your country will bless
Her brave sons and true in the Volunteer ranks;