The properte of every shire
I shall you tell, and ye will hear.
Herefordshire shield and spear:
Worsetshire wring pear.
Gloucetershire shoe and nail:
Bristowe ship and sail.
Oxenfordshire gird the mare:
Warwykshire bind bere.
London resortere:
Sowtherey great bragere.
Esex full of good hoswifes:
Middlesex full of strives.
Kentshire hot as fire:
Sowseke full of sirt and mire.
Hertfordshire full of wood:
Huntingdonshire corn full good.
Bedfordshire is nought to lack:
Bokinghamshire is his make.

O say not thou art left of God,
Because His tokens in the sky
Thou canst not read: this earth He trod
To teach thee He was ever nigh.

He sees, beneath the fig-tree green,
Nathaniel con His sacred lore;
Shouldst thou thy chamber seek, unseen
He enters through the unopened door.

And when thou liest, by slumber bound,
Outwearied in the Christian fight,
In glory, girt with saints around,
He stands above thee through the night.

When friends to Emmaus bend their course,
He joins, although He holds their eyes:

Dearest Friend when I shall be
Absent from my selfe and thee,
Something here thy thoughts may find
To preserve me in thy mind;
Oh be constant still and prove
Friendship's longer liv'd then love.

Say, hast thou track'd a traveller's round,
Nor visions met thee there,
Thou couldst but marvel to have found
This blighted world so fair?

And feel an awe within thee rise,
That sinful man should see
Glories far worthier Seraph's eyes
Than to be shared by thee?

Store them in heart! thou shalt not faint
" Mid coming pains and fears,
As the third heaven once nerved a Saint
For fourteen trial-years.

Thrice bless'd are they, who feel their loneliness;
To whom nor voice of friends nor pleasant scene
Brings that on which the sadden'd heart can lean;
Yea, the rich earth, garb'd in her daintiest dress
Of light and joy, doth but the more oppress,
Claiming responsive smiles and rapture high;
Till, sick at heart, beyond the veil they fly,
Seeking His Presence, who alone can bless.
Such, in strange days, the weapons of Heaven's grace;
When, passing o'er the high-born Hebrew line,
He forms the vessel of His vast design;

My work is done,
My task is o'er,
And so I come,
Taking it home;
For the crown is won.
Alleluia,
For evermore.

My Father gave
In charge to me
This child of earth
E'en from its birth,
To serve and save,
Alleluia,
And saved is he.

This child of clay
To me was given,
To rear and train
By sorrow and pain
In the narrow way,
Alleluia,
From earth to heaven.

O' ER Esthwaite's lake, screne and still,
At sunset's silent peaceful hour,
Scarce mov'd the zephyr's softest breath,
Or sigh'd along its reedy shore.

The lovely landscape on its sides,
With ev'ning's soft'ning hues imprest,
Shar'd in the gen'ral calm, and gave
Sweet visions of repose and rest.

Inverted on the waveless flood,
A spotless mirror smooth and clear,
Each fair surrounding object shone
In softer beauty imag'd there.

Brown hills, and woods of various shades,
Orchards and sloping meadows green,

Methinks it is good to be here,
If thou wilt, let us build — but for whom?
Nor Elias nor Moses appear;
but the shadows of eve that encompass with gloom
The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb.

Shall we build to Ambition? Ah no!
Affrighted, he shrinketh away;
For see, they would pin him below
In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay,
To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey.

To Beauty? Ah no! she forgets
The charms which she wielded before;
Nor knows the foul worm that he frets

PROFESSOR R OBINSON each summer beats
The fishing record of the world—such feats
As one would hardly credit from a lesser
Person than a history professor.

Wandering amid the horrors of the night,
Musing, my sighs mix with the whistling wind,
Dim watery shadows shroud my feeble sight,
And deep reflection fills my labouring mind.

Alone, amid the deadly midnight glooms,
I hear the winds rush wildly through the waste,
My strengthen'd soul its various powers assumes,
While painful feelings agitate my breast.

“Alas!” I thought, “Whence tends this toil of life,
“Unhappy, vain, delusive, frail, and short,
“Envelop'd 'mid disease, death, sin, and strife,
“As if weak man was his Creator's sport?”