#AmericanWriters
THE years are but half a score, And the war-whoop sounds no more With the blast of bugles, where Straight into a slaughter pen, With his doomed three hundred men,
The beaver cut his timber With patient teeth that day, The minks were fish-wards, and the… Surveyors of highway,- When Keezar sat on the hillside
Oh, dwarfed and wronged, and stain… Behold! thou art a woman still! And, by that sacred name and dear, I bid thy better self appear. Still, through thy foul disguise,…
Blest land of Judea! thrice hallo… Where the holiest of memories pilg… In the shade of thy palms, by the… On the hills of thy beauty, my hea… With the eye of a spirit I look o…
Our fathers’ God! from out whose… The centuries fall like grains of… We meet to-day, united, free, And loyal to our land and Thee, To thank Thee for the era done,
Our vales are sweet with fern and… Our hills are maple-crowned; But not from them our fathers chos… The village burying-ground. The dreariest spot in all the land
Dead Petra in her hill-tomb sleep… Her stones of emptiness remain; Around her sculptured mystery swee… The lonely waste of Edom’s plain. From the doomed dwellers in the cl…
In that black forest, where, when… With a snake’s stillness glides th… Darkly from sunset to the rising s… A cry, as of the pained heart of t… The long, despairing moan of solit…
UP, laggards of Freedom! ' our… To the blaze of the sun and the wi… Will ye turn from a struggle so br… From a foe that is breaking, a fie… Whoso loves not his kind, and who…
THROUGH the streets of Marbleh… Fast the red-winged terror sped; Blasting, withering, on it came, With its hundred tongues of flame, Where St. Michael’s on its way
'TIS over, Moses! All is lost! I hear the bells a-ringing; Of Pharaoh and his Red Sea host I hear the Free-Wills singing.* We’re routed, Moses, horse and fo…
KLOSTER KEDAR, EPHRA… SISTER MARIA CHRISTINA s… Wake, sisters, wake! the day-star… Above Ephrata’s eastern pines The dawn is breaking, cool and cal…
Tritemius of Herbipolis, one day, While kneeling at the altar’s foot… Alone with God, as was his pious… Heard from without a miserable voi… A sound which seemed of all sad th…
Though flowers have perished at th… Of Frost, the early comer, I hail the season loved so much, The good St. Martin’s summer. O gracious morn, with rose-red daw…
BENEATH the low-hung night clou… That raked her splintering mast The good ship settled slowly, The cruel leak gained fast. Over the awful ocean