The lone man gazed and gazed upon his gold,
His sweat, his blood, the wage of weary days;
But now how sweet, how doubly sweet to hold
All gay and gleamy to the camp-fire blaze.
The evening sky was sinister and cold;
The willows shivered, wanly lay the snow;
The uncommiserating land, so old,
So worn, so grey, so niggard in its woe;
Peered through its ragged shroud. The lone man sighed,
Poured back the gaudy dust into its poke,
Gazed at the seething river listless-eyed,
Loaded his corn-cob pipe as if to smoke;

I heare me thinks your sound as a tru Bell ,
On by ring out, in vertues you excell;
Hy honour'd Lord, whose fame proclaimes aloud,
Noble although you are, you are not proud.

Bell -like your vertues thus doth fame declare,
Vertues tru Bell indeed who rightly are;
That ringeth forth a most loud peale, to call
Lovers of vertue, you to follow all:
Ever go on, like a tru Bell on by ;
Rightly call men to true felicity.

I have a notion tonight, that the Earth and I, locked in each other's arms,
Are dancing madly through the skies
Overcome with the sublimity of life,
While those whirling dervishes, the speedy suns,
Pause to behold us ...

I could write the psalms again,
I could raise on high a voice of thanksgiving,
I could pace the eastern hills and bid the gates lift,
Bid the gates lift that usher the dawn of the spirit ...
For my joy is the joy unbidden, welling from the heart,
The joy of the Life that springs of itself from the inmost recesses
When in still loneliness self meets with self.

There's a flower far in the Western Land,
A flower that grows alone,
Under the rocks in the mouldering sand —
And a flower that is unknown.
A tiny thing like a blue-eyed star,
That seems to live for an hour,
Where the dark, cold, rock-thrown shadows are —
And we called it the Baby Flower.

Was it a fancy? I wonder now —
A thing that the children see?
We knew very well it was no blue bell
Where a pale blue bell should be.
Deep, and high, in the dark and damp,
Where the rock-cliff summits tower,

A silent, blue pavilion by the highway,
With white snow fluttering past its silken windows.
The love-birds on the lake are not alone,
Behind the curtains Suhe incense smokes
The screen seems bent on shutting out the moonlight,
The unfeeling lantern-flame glares on her, sleeping alone
In Liaoxi with its frozen rivers, spring is very short,
From Jibei the geese are coming, several thousand leagues.
May you cross quickly over the mountain passes,
Knowing my beauty, like peach or plum, will last but a moment. "

I believe in God, Creator,
Shepherd of all human souls;
Not apart and watching Nature,
While her wondrous plan unrolls,
But the Father of our spirits,
And the Moulder of our frames,
Loving each as one begotten,
Calling all by separate names.

I believe his holy Spirit
Fills the earth from shore to shore,
Round about, above, within us,
Bearing witness evermore:
Where that Spirit findeth entrance,
Though it tarry but a night,
Even sordid eyes, beholding,
See the wondrous love and light.

What matters that it is not known,
That no false tongue could tell,
That half of mankind would atone?
I know the truth too well.
Could I by kneeling to a Priest
Lift my soul out of hell?

The rose that in a garden grew,
The singing of a bird,
The red lips wet with love's warm dew,
The serpent whisper heard.
And I had kissed my father's sword
And pledged my knighted word.

Now I must take his hand in mine
And look him in the eyes,
And I must pledge his health in wine
And live a world of lies —

City of God, how broad and far
Outspread thy walls sublime!
The true thy chartered freemen are,
Of every age and clime.

One holy Church, one army strong,
One steadfast, high intent,
One working band, one harvest-song,
One King Omnipotent!

How purely hath thy speech come down
From man's primeval youth!
How grandly hath thine empire grown
Of Freedom, Love, and Truth!

How gleam thy watch-fires through the night
With never-fainting ray!
How rise thy towers, serene and bright,
To meet the dawning day!

Knights!
Posse on the move, bit to bridle, bridle to bit,
Gold saddles strewn with sprays of cassia.
Fine dust rising screens the road;
Startled flowers floating dazzle the eye
The riders, wine-steeped, halfway drunk;
The horses, sweat-drenched, utterly proud:
Homeward bound, fearing nightfall,
Jostling to the river, the bridge.