‘Come my own one, come my fond one,
Come my dearest unto me.
Will you wed with a jolly sailor lad
That's just returned from sea?’

‘You are ragged, love, you are dirty, love,
And you smell so much of the tar.
So begone, you saucy sailor boy,
So begone, you Jack Tar.’

‘If I'm ragged, love, if I'm dirty, love,
If I smell so much of the tar,
I got silver in my pocket, love,
And gold in bright store.’

So when she heard these words come from him,
On her bended knees she fell.
‘To be sure I shall wed with Henry,

Come, love, for now the night and day
Play with their pawns of black and white,
And what day loses in her play
Is won by the encroaching night.

The elematis grows old and clings
Grey-bearded to the roadside trees
And in the hedge the nightshade strings
Her berries in bright necklaces.

The fields are bare; the latest sheaf
Of barley, wheat and rusty rye
Is stacked long since; and every leaf
Burns like a sunset on the sky.

Come, love, for night and day, alas,
Are playing for a heavier stake

Come listen, O Love, to the voice of the dove,
Come, hearken and hear him say,
There are many To-morrows, my Love, my Love, —
There is only one To-day.

And all day long you can hear him say
This day in purple is rolled,
And the baby stars of the milky-way —
They are cradled in cradles of gold.

Now what is thy secret, serene gray dove,
Of singing so sweetly alway?
" There are many To-morrows, my Love, my Love, —
There is only one To-day. "

Come , let us make love deathless, thou and I,
Seeing that our footing on the Earth is brief —
Seeing that her multitudes sweep out to die
Mocking at all that passes our belief.
For standard of our love not theirs we take:
If we go hence to-day,
Fill the high cup that is so soon to break
With richer wine than they!

Ay, since beyond these walls no heavens there be,
Joy to revive or wasted youth repair,
I'll not bedim the lovely flame in thee,
Nor sully the sad splendor that we wear.
Great be the love, if with the lover dies

Come, I will make the continent indissoluble,
I will make the most splendid race the sun ever shone
upon,
I will make divine magnetic lands,
With the love of comrades,
With the life-long love of comrades.

I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the
rivers of America, and
along the shores of the great lakes, and all over the
prairies,
I will make inseparable cities with their arms about
each other's necks,
By the love of comrades,
By the manly love of comrades.

For you these from me, O Democracy, to serve you ma

1. Come, Holy Spirit, Dove divine On these bap-
2. We love thy name, we love thy laws, And joyful-
tismal waters shine, And teach our hearts, in
ly embrace thy cause; We love thy cross, the
highest strain, To praise the Lamb, for sinners slain.
shame, the pain, O Lamb of God, for sinners slain.

3. We sink beneath thy mystic flood;
O bathe us in thy cleansing blood;
We die to sin, and seek a grave,
With thee, beneath the yielding wave.

4. And as we rise, with thee to live,
O let the Holy Spirit give
The sealing unction from above

Come hither, you that love, and hear me sing
Of joys still growing,
Green, fresh, and lusty as the pride of spring,
And ever blowing.
Come hither, youths that blush, and dare not know
What is desire;
And old men, worse than you, that cannot blow
One spark of fire;
And with the power of my enchanting song,
Boys shall be able men, and old men young.

Come hither, you that hope, and you that cry;
Leave off complaining;
Youth, strength, and beauty, that shall never die,
Are here remaining.

Come , Celia, let's agree at last
— To love and live in quiet;
Let's tie the knot so very fast
— That time shall ne'er untie it.
Love's dearest joys they never prove,
— Who free from quarrels live;
'Tis sure a godlike part of love
— Each other to forgive.

When least I seemed concerned I took
— No pleasure, nor had rest;
And when I feigned an angry look,
— Alas! I loved you best.
Say but the same to me, you'll find
— How blest will be our fate;
Sure to be grateful, to be kind,
— Can never be too late.

Of all the beauteous wares
Exposed for sale at fairs,
None will give more delight
Than those that to your sight
From distant lands we bring.
Oh, hark to what we sing!
These beauteous birds behold,
They're brought here to be sold.

And first the big one see,
SOfull of roguish glee!
With light and merry bound
He leaps upon the ground;
Then springs up on the bough.
We will not praise him now.
The merry bird behold, —
He's brought here to be sold.

And now the small one see!
A modest look has he,

‘Com my swete, com my flowr,
Com my culver, myn owne bowr,
Com my moder now with me,
For Heven-quene I make thee.’

‘My swete Sone, with al my love
I com with thee to thyn above;
Wher thou art now let me be,
For al my love is laid on thee.’