1. Our school now closes out, And we today must
Oh let us meet in heaven, The Christians happy
part. How sad the thought to part with you; I hope we'll meet again.
home. The house above, when all is love There'll be no parting there.

2. You've been so kind to me;
How can I bear the thought,
To part with you, it grieves my heart
Perhaps to meet no more.
Chorus

3. Wherever you may go,
Dear students, think of me.
Oh, pray for me wherere you go,
That we may meet in heaven.

Our Saviour
(Paterne of true holinesse)
Continuall praid
Us by ensample teaching,
When he was baptized
In the wildernesse,
In working miracles
And in his preaching,
Upon the mount
In garden grones of death,
At his last Supper
At his parting breath.

O fortresse of the faithfull,
Sure defence,
In which doth Christians
Cognizance consist:
Their victories, their triumph
Comes from thence,
So forcible, hellgates
Cannot resist:
A thing whereby
Both Angels, clouds, and starres,
At mans request

Our mother, the pride of us all,
She sits on her crags by the shore,
And her feet they are wet with the waves
Whose foam is as flowers from the graves
Of her sons whom she welcomes no more,
And who answer no more to her call.

Amid weeds and sea-tangle and shells
They are buried far down in the deep,—
The deep which they loved to career.
Oh, might we awake them from sleep!
Oh, might they our voices but hear,
And the sound of our holiday bells!

Can it be she is thinking of them,
Her face is so proud and so still,

Our Mother, loved of all thy sons
So dear, they die, not dying for thee;
Yet are thy fondest, tenderest ones
Thy wanderers far at sea.

Life-long the bitter blue they stem,
Till custom makes it almost fair;
Sweet grow the splintering gales to them,
The icy gloom, the scorching glare.

But thy dear eyes, which shine for all,
They see not, save through homesick tears,
Or when thy smile, through battle-pall,
Pays death and all their painful years.

Fair freedom's gospel soundeth now

A. D. 1899

Our many years are made of clay and cloud,
And quick desire is but as morning dew;
And love and life, that linger and are proud,
Dissolve and are again the arching blue.

For who shall answer what the ages ask?
Or who undo a one-day-earlier bud?
We are but atoms in the larger task
Of law that seeks not to be understood.

Shall we then gather to our meagre mien

Our lords are to the mountains gane,
A hunting o' the fallow deer;
And they hae gripet Hughie Graham
For stealing o' the bishop's mare.--

And they hae tied him hand and foot,
And led him up thro' Stirling town;
The lads and lasses met him there,
Cried, Hughie Graham thou art a loun.--

O lowse my right hand free, he says,
And put my braid sword in the same;
He 's no in Stirling town this day,
Daur tell the tale to Hughie Graham.--

Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord,
As he sat by the bishop's knee;

( Regno Lombardo-Veneto , 1848)

Our Lombard country-girls along the coast
Wear daggers in their garters; for they know
That they might hate another girl to death
Or meet a German lover. Such a knife
I bought her, with a hilt of horn and pearl.

Father, you cannot know of all my thoughts
That day in going to meet her, — that last day
For the last time, she said; — of all the love
And all the hopeless hope that she might change
And go back with me. Ah! and everywhere,
At places we both knew along the road,

Our little fleet in July first,
Their mighty fleet did view:
She came but with a softly course,
Though winds behind her blew.
Her front much like the moon was crook'd,
(The horns seven miles asunder)
Her masts like stately towers looked,
The ocean groaning under.
And now, behold, they were at hand,
Daring our English borders,
Making full sure to bring our land
Under their Spanish orders.
But God above, laughing to scorn
Their wicked wile, and wealth,
To his annointed raised an horn
Of hope and saving health.

I
Our life is two-fold: Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality.
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They have a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off our waking toils,
They do divide our being; they become
A portion of ourselves as of our time,
And look like heralds of eternity;
They pass like spirits of the past,--they speak

Our king he kept a ffalse steward
Men called him Sir Aldingar.
He wolde haue layen by our comely queene,
Her deere worshipp to haue betraide;
Our queene shee was a good woman
And euer more said him nay.

Aldingar was offended in his mind,
With her hee was neuer content,
But he sought what meanes he cold find out
In a fyer to haue her brent.

There came a lame lazer to the Kings gates,
A lazar was [b]lind and lame;
He tooke the lazar vpon his backe
Vpon the queenes bed he did him lay;