Not always of the favored ones and gay,
On whom the world smiles with indulgent eyes, —
Who have not learned the depths of tears and sighs, —
Not always those whom men love most, are they
Whom the Lord loveth!

Bending beneath the weight of griefs and woes,
I see a pilgrim, pale with earnest thought,
Weighed down by sorrows which the world knows not,
Unnoticed and alone, yet one of those
Whom the Lord loveth.

Wealth, glory, worldly pride, aside he threw,
For the deep faith within him, — far too strong

I.

The days of old were days of might
In forms of greatness moulded,
And flowers of Heaven grew on the earth
Within the Church unfolded:
For grace fell fast as summer dew,
And saints to giant stature grew.

II.

But one by one the gifts are gone
That in the world abounded,
When it within the Church's walls
Was willingly surrounded;
And weary nations scarce can bide
The thrall of power unsanctified.

III.

Lilies are here, tall in the garden bed,
And on the moor are still the buds of May;
Roses are here — and, tolling for our dead
The Bells of Peace make summer holiday.

And do they hear, who in their Springtime went?
The young, the brave young, leaving all behind,
All of their fate, love, laughter, and content,
The village sweetness and the western wind.

Leaving the quiet trees and the cattle red,

While we watched in chilly May
Winter's slow surrender,
Waiting vainly for a day
Warm and soft and tender,
Little Nannie found her way
Into summer splendor.

Nannie, with her rose-white face
And her dove-like cooing,
Winning in all hearts a place
By her artless wooing,
And the deeds of baby grace
She was always doing.

We whose lives have left behind
Childhood's paths forever,
In our tiresome strivings find
Years of vain endeavor:
Tedious toil of hand and mind,
Recompensed, ah never!

This is where the roses grew,
In the summer that is gone;
Fairer bloom or richer hue
Never summer shone upon:
O, the glories vanished hence!
O, the sad imperfect tense!

This is where the roses grew
When the July days were long, —
When the garden all day through
Echoed with delight and song; —
Hark! the dead and broken stalks
Eddying down the windy walks!

Never was a desert waste,

I.

How much they wrong thee, gentle Hope! who say
That thou art light of heart, and bright of eye!
Ah! no, — thou wert not hope, if thou wert gay:
She hath no part with idle gaiety!

II.

The gay think only of the passing hour,
And the light mirth the flying moments yield;
But thou dost come when days of darkness lower,
And with the future dost the present gild.

III.

Yes; thou, sweet Power! art Grief's twin-sister, given
To walk with her the weary world around,
Scattering, like dew, the fragrant balm of heaven,

From gulf to lake, from sea to sea,
The land is draped—a nation weeps;
And o'er the bier bows reverently,
Whereon the silent soldier sleeps.

The mountain-top is bathed in light;
And eastern cliff with outlook wide—
Its name shall live in memory bright—
The Mount MacGregor, where he died.

A monument to stand for aye,
In summer's bloom, in winter's snows;
A shrine where men shall come to pray,
While at its base the Hudson flows.

A humble room, the light burns low;
The morning breaks on distant hill;

There's a flower, with a cup—
A cup of dew;
Golden god plucked it up
And gave it you.

If you shake—let it spill—
Its pretty rain,
All the world will not fill
It up again.

Careless death it must die,
And, like a weed,
In the sun ever lie

Upon Cary Frazer

Her Father gave her Dildoes six;
Her Mother made 'um up a score:
But she loves nought but living pricks
And swears by God sheel frig no more.

Sternhold and Hopkins had great Qualms,
When they Translated David 's Psalms ,
To make the Heart full glad:
But had it been poor David 's Fate,
To hear thee Sing, and them Translate,
By God 'twould have made him Mad.