Thrones, Powers, Dominions, Peoples, Kings, Are changing ‘neath our hand. Our fathers also see these things But they do not understand. By—they are by with mirth and tears, Wit or the works of Desire-Cushioned about on the kindly years Between the wall and the fire. The grapes are pressed, the corn is shocked—Standeth no more […]
“Once in so often,” King Solomon said, Watching his quarrymen drill the stone, “We will curb our garlic and wine and bread And banquet together beneath my Throne, And all Brethren shall come to that mess As Fellow—Craftsmen—no more and no less.” “Send a swift shallop to Hiram of Tyre, Felling and floating our beautiful
Three things make earth unquiet And four she cannot brook The godly Agur counted them And put them in a book —Those Four Tremendous Curses With which mankind is cursed; But a Servant when He Reigneth Old Agur entered first. An Handmaid that is Mistress We need not call upon. A Fool when he is
Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. “Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!” he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. “Forward, the Light Brigade!” Was there a man dismayed? Not though the soldier knew Some one
Father of all! In every age, In ev’ry clime ador’d, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! Thou Great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confin’d To know but this, that Thou art good, And that myself am blind: What blessings thy free bounty gives Let me not cast
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray, And when I cross’d the Wild, I chanc’d to see at break of day The solitary Child. “To-night will be a stormy night, You to the Town must go, And take a lantern, Child, to light Your Mother thro’ the snow.” “That, Father! will I gladly do; ‘Tis
See what delights in sylvan scenes appear! Descending Gods have found Elysium here. In woods bright Venus with Adonis stray’d, And chaste Diana haunts the forest shade. Come lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours, When swains from shearing seek their nightly bow’rs; When weary reapers quit the sultry field, And crown’d with corn, their
One day there fell in great Benaras temple court A wondrous plate of gold, whereas these words were written; “To him who loveth best, a gift from heaven.” There at, the priests made proclamation: “at the mid-day hour, Each day, let those assemble who for virtue deem Their right to heaven’s gift the best; and
A Chieftain, to the highlands bound, Cries, “Boatman, do not tarry! And I’ll give thee a silver pound To row us o’er the ferry!” And fast before her father’s men Three days we’ve fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. “His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Far far from gusty waves these children’s faces. Like rootless weeds, the hair torn round their pallor: The tall girl with her weighed- down head. The paper-Seeming boy, with rat’s eyes. The stunted, unlucky heir Of twisted bones, reciting a father’s gnarled disease, His lesson from his desk. At back of the dim class One
LONG-EXPECTED one and twenty Ling’ring year at last has flown, Pomp and pleasure, pride and plenty Great Sir John, are all your own. Loosen’d from the minor’s tether, Free to mortgage or to sell, Wild as wind, and light as feather Bid the slaves of thrift farewell. Call the Betty’s, Kate’s, and Jenny’s Ev’ry name
Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! For the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No nightingale did ever chant More welcome notes to weary bands Of
I marvel how Nature could ever find space for so many strange contrasts in one human face: There’s thought and no thought, and there’s paleness and bloom and bustle and sluggishness, pleasure and gloom. There’s weakness, and strength both redundant and vain; such strength as, if ever affliction and pain Could pierce through a temper
The snow falls deep; the forest lies alone; The boy goes hasty for his load of brakes, Then thinks upon the fire and hurries back; The gypsy knocks his hands and tucks them up, And seeks his squalid camp, half hid in snow, Beneath the oak which breaks away the wind, And bushes close in
I do not understand this child Though we have lived together now In the same house for years. I know Nothing of him, so try to build Up a relationship from how He was when small. Yet have I killed The seed I spent or sown it where The land in his and none of