How sweetly come the holy psalms From saints and martyrs down, The waving of triumphal palms Above the thorny crown The choral praise, the chanted pra…

NOT without envy Wealth at times… On their brown strength who wield… And scythe, or at the forge-fire s… Or the steel harness of the steeds… All who, by skill and patience, an…

THE day’s sharp strife is ended n… Our work is done, God knoweth how… As on the thronged, unrestful town The patience of the moon looks dow… I wait to hear, beside the wire,

Who, looking backward from his man… Sees not the spectre of his misspe… And, through the shade Of funeral cypress planted thick b… Hears no reproachful whisper on th…

The day is closing dark and cold, With roaring blast and sleety show… And through the dusk the lilacs we… The bloom of snow, instead of flow… I turn me from the gloom without,

As a guest who may not stay Long and sad farewells to say Glides with smiling face away, Of the sweetness and the zest Of thy happy life possessed

GEORGE FULLER Haunted of Beauty, like the marve… Who sang Saint Agnes’ Eve! How p… Her shapes took color in thy homes… How on thy canvas even her dreams…

PRELUDE ALONG the roadside, like the flo… That tawny Incas for their garden… Heavy with sunshine droops the gol… And the red pennons of the cardina…

IN Westminster’s royal halls, Robed in their pontificals, England’s ancient prelates stood For the people’s right and good. Closed around the waiting crowd,

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

A gold fringe on the purpling hem Of hills the river runs, As down its long, green valley fal… The last of summer’s suns. Along its tawny gravel-bed

‘O for a knight like Bayard, Without reproach or fear; My light glove on his casque of st… My love-knot on his spear! ’O for the white plume floating

FOR A SUMMER FESTIVAL… Once more on yonder laurelled heig… The summer flowers have budded; Once more with summer’s golden lig… The vales of home are flooded;

A score of years had come and gone Since the Pilgrims landed on Plym… When Captain Underhill, bearing s… From Indian ambush and Flemish wa… Left three-hilled Boston and wand…

Stream of my fathers! sweetly stil… The sunset rays thy valley fill; Poured slantwise down the long def… Wave, wood, and spire beneath them… I see the winding Powow fold