English

Choyse the foundation is, whereon elect,
Heavens chuse to build, as Sura Hart Select.
Arts there will flourish, learning will increase,
Religion fructifie, and blossom peace,
Live then most happy Prince, thy Hart select
Ever will beare a glorious Architect;
Sciences here, both morall and divine,

Structure may have, making the building fine,
The Arts will greatly your great soul adorn,
Vertue will highly elevate your horne,
And like great Charles, fit you for peace, or Warre,
Revealing good to choose, the Ill to barre.

The Gossips tell a story of the Sparrow and the Cat,
The Feline thin and hungry and the Bird exceeding fat.
With eager, famished energy and claws of gripping steel,
Puss pounced upon the Sparrow and prepared to make a meal.

The Sparrow never struggled when he found that he was caught
(If somewhat slow in action he was mighty quick of thought),
But chirped in simple dignity that seemed to fit the case,
— No Gentleman would ever eat before he'd washed his face! —

This hint about his Manners wounded Thomas like a knife

Rose of my heart! I've raised for thee a bower,
For thee have bent the pliant osier round,
For thee have carpeted with turf the ground,
And trained a canopy to shield thy flower,
So that the warmest sun can have no power
To dry the dew from off thy leaf, and pale
Thy living carmine, but a woven veil
Of full-green vines shall guard from heat and shower.
Rose of my heart! here, in this dim alcove,
No worm shall nestle, and no wandering bee
Shall suck thy sweets, no blight shall wither thee,

In this peaceful house of prayer
Stronger faith, O God, we seek;
Here we bring each earthly care,—
Thou the strengthening message speak!

In our greatest trials we,
Calm through thee, the way have trod;
In the smallest, may we feel
Thou art still our Helper-God.

Of thy presence and thy love
We more steadfast feeling need,
Till the high and holy thought
Hallow every simplest deed.

In this quiet hour of prayer
Stronger faith, O God, we seek;
Here we lay each earthly care,—

Star of the pensive! " melancholy star, "
That, from the bosom of the deep ascending,
Shines on the curling waves, like mourner bending
Over the ruins of the joys that were;
Or lone, deserted mother sweetly tending
Her hushed babe in its cradle, often blending
Her plaintive song and sigh repressed, — sweet star!
I love the eye that looks on me so far
From all this want, and wretchedness, and woe,
From out that home of pure serenity
Above the winds and clouds. When tempests blow,

What has drawn us thus apart
From the common daily round,
Bringing here a lowly heart,
Standing as on holy ground?

Morning visions high and pure;
Glorious things that are to be;
Faith and hope that shall endure;
Love's abiding unity;

All the things that make for peace
In the daily toil and strife;
All that can our part increase
In the world's diviner life.

Short the time together here;
Then, with earnest heart and hand,
Back to life with freshened cheer,
Every vision God's command!

My holy day, my calm delight;
My meadow in the fields of life;
My silence, in earth's noisy strife,
Where God is clearest to my sight.

My island, in the rushing stream,
Where birds may sing and lilies blow;
My hill-top, where the mornings glow,
While still in night the valleys dream.

My strength, to face the coming week;
My rest, to count the battles fought;
My quiet, where the jarring thought
Of other days grows still and meek.

My day of love; my day of prayer;
My day of pure and perfect peace;

1

Of old, under Emperor Gui,
In the era of the great Tang,
Heaven's guiderope began to froth and foam,
Causing blight, bringing on disease
Giant breakers spread and sprawled
A myriad miles, without bound;
Long swells rolled and tossed,
Streaming and stretching into the eight marches.

And then Yu
Pared mounds and hills overlooking the banks,
Breached dikes and ponds allowing the water to drain,
Opened Dragon Gate, jaggedly jutting,
Broke open hills and peaks, chiseling and boring through.

Moderate tasks and moderate leisure,
Quiet living, strict-kept measure
Both in suffering and in pleasure —
'Tis for this thy nature yearns.

But so many books thou readest,
But so many schemes thou breedest,
But so many wishes feedest,
That thy poor head almost turns.

And (the world's so madly jangled,
Human things so fast entangled)
Nature's wish must now be strangled
For that best which she discerns.

Momus, I know, at this my worke will wonder ,
And blaming me will belching envy thunder,
By blusterous words, out of his mouth, which he
Shall seconded by Zoilus likewise be .
Tush say they, what! a Woman this worke frame?
Her wit will not attaine an Anagramme;
There many may be false within her Booke.
Tet Monsier Critick, notwithstanding looke
I pray thee on these following Roules, and than
Anagrammes here according to them scan.
E, may most what conclude an English word,
And so a letter at a neede afford.