For the sole edification Of this decent congregation, Goodly people, by your grant I will sing a holy chant— I will sing a holy chant.

Under the stone you behold, Buried, and coffined, and cold, Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold. Always he marched in advance, Warring in Flanders and France,

No more, thou lithe and long-winge… No more across the sultry sands sh… Blunt idle talons, idle beak, with… Shatter against thy cage the wing… Long, sitting by their watchfires,…

Ye pathrons of janius, Minerva an… Who sit on Parnassus, that mounta… Descind from your station and make… Of the Prince’s pavilion in sweet… This garden, by jakurs, is forty p…

There’s in the Vest a city pleasa… To vich King Bladud gev his name, And in that city there’s a Cresce… Vere dwelt a noble knight of fame. Although that galliant knight is o…

A little girl through field and wo… Went plucking flowerets here and t… When suddenly beside her stood A lady wondrous fair! The lovely lady smiled, and laid

A street there is in Paris famous… For which no rhyme our language yi… Rue Neuve de petits Champs its na… The New Street of the Little Fie… And there’s an inn, not rich and s…

When moonlike ore the hazure seas In soft effulgence swells, When silver jews and balmy breaze Bend down the Lily’s bells; When calm and deap, the rosy sleep

Beside the old hall-fire—upon my n… Of happy fairy days—what tales wer… I thought the world was once—all p… And my heart would beat to hear—th… And many a quiet night,—in slumber…

“Coming from a gloomy court, Place of Israelite resort, This old lamp I’ve brought with m… Madam, on its panes you’ll see The initials K and E.”

When fierce political debate Throughout the isle was storming, And Rads attacked the throne and… And Tories the reforming, To calm the furious rage of each,

Long by the willow-trees Vainly they sought her, Wild rang the mother’s screams O’er the gray water: ‘Where is my lovely one?

Dear Jack, this white mug that wi… And drink to the health of sweet… Was once Tommy Tosspot’s, as jovi… As e’er drew a spigot, or drain’d… In drinking all round ’twas his jo…

Some love the matin-chimes, which… The hour of prayer to sinner: But better far’s the mid-day bell, Which speaks the hour of dinner; For when I see a smoking fish,

On deck, beneath the awning, I dozing lay and yawning; It was the gray of dawning, Ere yet the sun arose; And above the funnel’s roaring,