English

Our father liked to play a game.
He played that he was dead.
He took his thick black glasses off
and stretched out on the bed.

He wouldn't twitch and didn't snore
or move in any way.
He didn't even seem to breathe!
We asked, Are you okay ?

We tickled fingers up and down
his huge, pink, stinky feet—
He didn't move; he lay as still
as last year's parakeet

We pushed our fingers up his nose,
and wiggled them inside—
Next, we peeled his eyelids back
Are you okay ? we cried.

If you leave the gloom of London and you seek a glowing land,
Where all except the flag is strange and new,
There's a bronzed and stalwart fellow who will grip you by the hand,
And greet you with a welcome warm and true;
For he's your younger brother, the one you sent away
Because there wasn't room for him at home;
And now he's quite contented, and he's glad he didn't stay,
And he's building Britain's greatness o'er the foam.

When the giant herd is moving at the rising of the sun,
And the prairie is lit with rose and gold.

Granger is one who hath a numerous stock,
Ever rejoycing how to feed his flock;
O Reverend Father, you the Granger are:
Regard then well those sheep, we to your share
Granger committer are by the great Pastor,
Ever the Bishop of our souls, your Master.

Men though you feed, and over them are placed,
A Granger by that God who you thus graced,
Now men , like sheep, some wander from the way,
Nor ever cease (untill brought back) to stray;
Ere then too far from the commandement
Running they stray, Granger , their steps prevent

In Gods Word, as there is most precious balm
Of the true Gilead , sins hot heat to calm,
Having refreshment for the soul that's weary,
Ne're leading of the poore and solitary;

There is so likewise in Gods blessed Word
Heart-breaking terrours, that do feares afford,
On them who sin affect with sole delight
Rending and tearing so the heart to fright,
Not leaving still to prick the same with feare
By godly sorrow, as if thorns were there,
Vntill the conscience once affected rend,
Resolving never more on sin t'attend:

Upon reading a scurrilous Letter in the Public Advertiser, sign'd Major John Spinnage .

I.

Fie foul-mouth'd Spinnage, what in Print
A Lyar, Scoundrel, Fool ,
A Major , and a Justice too!
What! learnt you this at School?

II.

Blush, deeply blush, for this Offence,
Retract your courtly Charge;
Or you will have the World retort,
And think you're All at large .

God of the earnest heart,
The trust assured and still,
Thou who our strength forever art, —
We come to do thy will!

Upon that painful road
By saints serenely trod,
Whereon their hallowing influence flowed,
Would we go forth, O God!

'Gainst doubt and shame and fear
In human hearts to strive,
That all may learn to love and bear,
To conquer self, and live;

To draw thy blessing down,
And bring the wronged redress,
And give this glorious world its crown,

VERSES addressed to Dr . W YNSTOK , upon the Author's Recovery from a very severe Nervous Disorder .

I.

Since rosy Health once more displays
Her sprightly gladsome Train,
With renovated Strength the Muse
Attempts this grateful Strain.

II.

But first, to Heav'n's all-ruling Pow'r,
She bends with thankful Heart;
Without who's Aid, of what Avail
Is ev'ry human Art?

III.

I know a garden where the lilies gleam,
And one who lingers in the sunshine there;
She is than white-stoled lily far more fair,
And oh, her eyes are heaven-lit with dream!

I know a garret, cold and dark and drear,
And one who toils and toils with tireless pen,
Until his brave, sad eyes grow weary — then
He seeks the stars, pale, silent as a seer.

And ah, it's strange; for, desolate and dim,
Between these two there rolls an ocean wide;
Yet he is in the garden by her side
And she is in the garret there with him.

Addressed to a Lady of singular Ingenuity

Miss
Persuasion on thy Lips is hung,
Heav'nly Eloquence of Tongue;
In what Variety of Charms,
Little Loves with sweet Alarms,
In thy graceful Form appear,
(Prithee Waldgrave come not here)
Pride and Envy must be mute,
If they dare with thee dispute:
No, it cannot, shall not be,
All must yield the Palm to thee:
But should foolish Beauty claim,
Under that bare, simple Name,
Retreat, thou self-sufficient Fair,
To S APPHO how can'st thou compare!

Why should a woman, who is fraile and weak,
Into the praises of your vertues break,
Londons great Prelate, whom true vertues lore
Lively proclaims, thee rich within, not poore;
Insuing which true riches, Charles our King
A meet Bird thinks thee in his Church to sing;
Marking the just accounts 'twixt God and thee,

Intrusteth thee with his high Treasury:
Very well maist thou counsell good be giving;
Xenophan like, Philosopher-like living;
O! I confesse, the Muses lend a light,
( Ne, you vail my lux tho: to do you right,)