" Tell me what to get and I will get it. "
" Then get that picture — that — the girl in white. "
" Now tell me where you wish that I should set it. "
" Lean it where I can see it — in the light. "

" If there is more, sir, you have but to say it. "
" Then bring those letters — those which lie apart. "
" Here is the packet! Tell me where to lay it. "
" Stoop over, nurse, and lay it on my heart.

" Thanks for your silence, nurse! You understand me!
And now I'll try to manage for myself.

Thine English eyes are sweeter than the day,
More beautiful than light at early morn,
Tenderet than stars, or than the tender grey
Of even when the moon's slow car is borne
Upward by grey far propping waves forlorn:
Not Beatrice, in Italy the queenly,
Flashed love, or mirth, or summer-lightning scorn,
So sweetly, or so roselike and serenely.

The English breezes crowned thy young fair head,
And kissed thy lips, and made them roses red:
The English meadow-sweet purloined thy breath,
Blossomed immortal then, and laughed at death:

Yet in ten years a high work may be done,
Labour accomplished that shall put to shame
The swift departure of the vanquished sun,
When the red waves receive on crests of flame
The lingering arrows its last efforts aim.
For in ten years the meadow-sweet immortal
Of song may crown and robe one much-loved name;
Yea, and the wings of song may through death's portal
Bear, living and triumphant, one flower-form,
Still beautiful and white, still breathing, warm.
In ten years, sweetheart, I have set thee high

Oh, thou canst not escape! my songs pervade
The distance lying between us, and they fill
The sunny plain, the fields, the leafy shade.
They ripple to thee in the rippling rill,
They call unto thee from the gleaming hill;
They laughing claim thee as mine own for ever
In spite of all that time can work of ill.
They cluster round thee, to forsake thee never;
Their plumes in the hazy air of August quiver;
They follow thee throughout the silent deep
Unfathomed dim abodes of awful sleep,
O'er tides of resonant sea and tides of river:

Yea, towards God's snow-capped mountains do I raise
Mine eyes and towards God's temples lift my voice:
The endless beauty of my love I praise,
That she too in my singing may rejoice,
Finding immortal pleasure in my lays.
Oh, beautiful her face beneath the bays
Smiles, when I lift the circlet from mine head;
Forgetting for a season all the ways
Of song — the paths of suffering fiery-red
Through which my thorn-pierced footsteps have been led,
And all the lonely nights and grievous days —
When I forgetting these gaze up instead

Squire wants the bay horse,
For it is the best.
Squire holds the mortgage;
Where's the interest?
Haven't got the interest,
Can't raise a sou,
Shan't sell the bay horse,
Whatever he may do.

Did you see the bay horse?
Such a one to go!
He took a bit of ridin'
When I showed him at the Show.
First prize the broad jump,
First prize the high,
Gold medal, Class A,

Heav'n release you, lone ones! bending
'Neath your weary life of pain;
Tears of ceaseless anguish blending
With the bitter cup ye drain;
Yet, think not our pray'rs ascending
Shall forever rise in vain.

God hath rais'd up hearts of feeling,
That have felt for all your woe;
Bear awhile; and soon, revealing
Brighter prospects with its glow,
Light, across your night-clouds stealing,
Hours of freedom yet may show.

Captain Temple, D.S.O.,
With his banjo and retriever.
" Rough, I know, on poor old Flo,
But, by Jove! I couldn't leave her. "
Niger ribbon on his breast,
In his blood the Niger fever,
Captain Temple, D.S.O.,
With his banjo and retriever.

Cox of the Politicals,
With his cigarette and glasses,
Skilled in Pushtoo gutturals,
Odd job man among the Passes,
Keeper of the Zakka Khels,
Tutor of the Khaiber Ghazis,
Cox of the Politicals,
With his cigarette and glasses.

Mr. Hawkins, Junior Sub.,

Afflicted one! to Christ draw near;
Thy Savior's gracious promise hear;
His faithful word declares to thee,
That, " as thy days, thy strength shall be. "

Let not thy heart despond, and say, —
How shall I stand the trying day?
He has engag'd by firm decree,
That " as thy days, thy strength shall be. "

Thy faith is weak, thy foes are strong;
But though the conflict should be long,
Thy Lord will make the tempter flee;
For, " as thy days, thy strength shall be. "

Should persecution rage and flame,

A sword! A sword! Ah, give me a sword!
For the world is all to win.
Though the way be hard and the door be barred
The strong man enters in.
If Chance or Fate still hold the gate
Give me the iron key,
And turret high, my plume shall fly
Or you may weep for me!

A horse! A horse! Ah, give me a horse
To bear me out afar,
Where blackest need and grimmest deed,
And sweetest perils are.
Hold thou my ways from glutted days,
Where poisoned leisure lies,
And point the path of tears and wrath
Which mounts to high emprise.