English

The summer dawn is breaking
On Auburn's tangled bowers,
The golden light is waking
On Harvard's ancient towers;
The sun is in the sky
That must see us do or die,
Ere it shine on the line
Of the Class OF '29.

At last the day is ended,
The tutor screws no more,

A SENTIMENT OFFERED AT THE DINNER TO H. I. H. THE PRINCE NAPOLEON, AT THE REVERE HOUSE, SEPTEMBER
25, 1861

The land of sunshine and of song!
Her name your hearts divine;
To her the banquet's vows belong
Whose breasts have poured its wine;
Our trusty friend, our true ally
Through varied change and chance:
So, fill your flashing goblets high, —
I give you, Vive LA F RANCE !

Above our hosts in triple folds
The selfsame colors spread,
Where Valor's faithful arm upholds
The blue, the white, the red;

A NIGHTMARE DREAM BY DAYLIGHT

Do you know the Old Man of the Sea, of the Sea?
Have you met with that dreadful old man?
If you have n't been caught, you will be, you will be;
For catch you he must and he can.

He does n't hold on by your throat, by your throat,
As of old in the terrible tale;
But he grapples you tight by the coat, by the coat,
Till its buttons and button-holes fail.

TO J. F. CLARKE APRIL 4, 1860

Who is the shepherd sent to lead,
 Through pastures green, the Master's sheep?
What guileless “Israelite indeed”
 The folded flock may watch and keep?

He who with manliest spirit joins
 The heart of gentlest human mould,
With burning light and girded loins,
 To guide the flock, or watch the fold;

True to all Truth the world denies,
 Not tongue-tied for its gilded sin;
Not always right in all men's eyes,
 But faithful to the light within;

CELEBRATION OF THE MERCANITLE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION, FEBRUARY 22, 1856

Welcome to the day returning,
Dearer still as ages flow,
While the torch of Faith is burning,
Long as Freedom's altars glow!
See the hero whom it gave us
Slumbering on a mother's breast;
For the arm he stretched to save us,
Be its morn forever blest!

Hear the tale of youthful glory,
While of Britain's rescued band

MEETING OF THE BERKSHIRE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY, AT STOCKBRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 13, 1854

Scarce could the parting ocean close,
Seamed by the Mayflower's cleaving bow,
When o'er the rugged desert rose
The waves that tracked the Pilgrim's plough.

Then sprang from many a rock-strewn field
The rippling grass, the nodding grain,
Such growths as English meadows yield
To scanty sun and frequent rain.

But when the fiery days were done,

No longer forward nor behind
I look in hope or fear,
But, grateful, take the good I find,
The best of now and here.

I plough no more a desert land,
To harvest weed and tare;
The manna dropping from God's hand
Rebukes my painful care.

I break my pilgrim staff, I lay
Aside the toiling oar;
The angel sought so far away
I welcome at my door.

And all the jarring notes of life
Seem blending in a psalm,
And all the angles of its strife
Slow rounding into calm.

I long for household voices gone,
For vanished smiles I long;
But God hath led my dear ones on,
And he can do no wrong.

I know not what the future hath
Of marvel or surprise,
Assured alone that life and death
His mercy underlies.

And if my heart and flesh are weak
To bear an untried pain,
The bruisèd reed he will not break,
But strengthen and sustain.

I know not where his islands lift
Their fronded palms in air;
Only know I cannot drift
Beyond his love and care.

I see the wrong that round me lies,
I feel the guilt within;
I hear, with groan and travail-cries
The world confess its sin:

Yet in the maddening maze of things,
And tossed by storm and flood,
To one fixed stake my spirit clings, —
I know that God is good!

Not mine to look where cherubim
And seraphs may not see;
But nothing can be good in him
Which evil is in me.

The wrong that pains my soul below
I dare not throne above;
I know not of his hate, — I know

O Love, O Life, our faith and sight
Thy presence maketh one!
As through transfigured clouds of white
We trace the noonday sun,
So, to our mortal eyes subdued,
Flesh-veiled, but not concealed,
We know in thee the fatherhood
And heart of God revealed.

We faintly hear, we dimly see,
In differing phrase we pray,
But, dim or clear, we own in thee
The Light, the Truth, the Way;
And thou art Master of us all,
Whate'er our name or sign;
We own thy sway, we hear thy call,
We test our lives by thine.