English

Have ever you heard of the Land of Beyond,
That dreams at the gates of the day?
Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies,
And ever so far away;
Alluring it calls: O ye the yoke galls,
And ye of the trail overfond,
With saddle and pack, by paddle and track,
Let's go to the Land of Beyond!

Have ever you stood where the silences brood,
And vast the horizons begin,
At the dawn of the day to behold far away
The goal you would strive for and win?
Yet ah! in the night when you gain to the height,

I worship thee, O Will of God,
And all thy ways adore,
And every day I live I seem
To love thee more and more.

When obstacles and trials seem
Like prison-walls to be,
I do the little I can do,
And leave the rest to thee.

I have no cares, O blessed Will,
For all my cares are thine;
I live in triumph, Lord, for thou,
Hast made thy triumphs mine!

He always wins who sides with God;
To him no chance is lost;
God's will is sweetest to him when
It triumphs at his cost.

Well live you here, who ready still to dye ,
Injoye the world yet, take no joy thereby;
Living to grace, and dying to all guile;
Lively so Christ doth live in you the while.
In sweet perseverance then still abide,
And a crown excellent will you betide.
Many your vertues are, and their reward.

Cleering all scores, is worth a due regard:
Attend then in your good life to persever,
Virtue convaies a strength to live for ever,
E'ne when as strength, and nature in you dyes ,
New and true joyes you then indeed surprise:

(Amazilia cerviniventris.)

A wingëd rocket, curving through
 An amethyst trajectory,
Blew up the magazines of dew
 Within the fortress of the bee.

Some say the tulip mortar sent
 The missile forth; I do not know;
I scarcely saw which way it went,
 Its whisk of flame surprised me so.

I heard the sudden hum and boom,
 And saw the arc of purple light
Across the garden's rosy gloom;
 Then something glorious blurred my sight!

The bees forgot to sound alarm,

" Deny your God! " they ringed me with their spears;
Blood-crazed were they, and reeking from the strife;
Hell-hot their hate, and venom-fanged their sneers,
And one man spat on me and nursed a knife.
And there was I, sore wounded and alone,
I, the last living of my slaughtered band.
Oh sinister the sky, and cold as stone!
In one red laugh of horror reeled the land.
And dazed and desperate I faced their spears,
And like a flame out-leaped that naked knife,
And like a serpent stung their bitter jeers:

Oriole—athlete of the air—
Of fire and song a glowing core,
From tropic wildernesses fair,
Spring's favorite lampadephore,

A hot flambeau on either wing
Rimples as you pass me by;
'T is seeing flame to hear you sing,
'T is hearing song to see you fly.

Below the leaves in fragrant gloom,
Cool currents lead you to your goal,
Where bursting jugs of rich perfume
Down honeyed slopes of verdure roll.

In eddies, round some hummock cold,
Where violets weave their azure bredes,

Many cleere vertues in you, orient pearle,
O rightly show you son to such an Earle;
Naturally declaring you to be
The Image just of such another he.
Au! when your noblenesse we doe descry,
Great Peere, bee son atrue Iem straight we cry,
Vertue so true in you must a true Iem
Ever proclaime you, worthiest amongst men.

Be't cannot be, yet ev'n so be it tho,
A tru and precious Iem we may thee known
Resplend then forth the Raies of thy great light,
That we may see thee rightly to be bright,

Know, my soul, thy full salvation!
Rise o'er sin and fear and care;
Joy to find in every station
Something still to do and bear.
Think what Spirit dwells within thee;
What a Father's smile is thine;
Think what he hath done to win thee:
Child of heaven, canst thou repine?

Haste thee on from grace to glory,
Armed by faith and winged by prayer!
Heaven's eternal day's before thee,
God's own hand shall guide thee there:
Faithful in thine earthly mission,
Faithful through thy pilgrim-days,

Chuse well you may, for Chose you vertue have,
Heroikely true choyce have you to save;
And he who doth in any goodnesse grow,
Rightly may have a great reward you know
Let your firme heart then, by true vertue prest,
Evermore in security finde rest,
Seeking no further a reward to finde.

Heavens ever will reward a vertuous minde,
On which rely, and for a truth know this,
With vertue is attendant endlesse blisse,
And whosoever Chuseth vertue, he
Right way hath found rewarded well to be.

There is a something sweet and pure, —
Through life, through death, it may endure;
With steady foot I onward press,
And long to win that blessedness.

It hath no shadow, this soft light,
But makes each daily duty bright:
It bids each heart-born tumult cease,
And sobers joy to quiet peace.

An all-abiding sense of Love,
In silence falling from above;
A conscience clear from wilful sin,
That hath no subterfuge within;

Fixed duty claiming every power,
And human love to charm each hour, —