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A woman is kneeling beside him;
A fair young head is prest,
In the first wild passion of sorrow,
Against his aged breast.

And far from over the distance
The faltering echoes come,
Of the flying blast of trumpet

And the rattling roll of drum.

Then the grandsire speaks, in a whisper,

"The end no man can see; But we give him to his country, And we give our prayers Thee."

The violets star the meadows,
The rosebuds fringe the door,
And over the grassy orchard

The pink-white blossoms pour.

Because those eyes of gentle mirth
Must some time cease my heart to
thrill,

Because the sweetest voice on earth
Sooner or later must be still,
Because its idol is unsure,

Shall my strong love the less endure ?

Ah, no! let lovers breathe their sighs,

And roses bloom, and music sound. And passion burn in lips and eyes, And pleasure's merry world go round:

to Let golden sunshine flood the sky, And let me love, or let me die!

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WITHEREd roses.

Nor made by worth, nor marred by flaw,

Not won by good, nor lost by ill,
Love is its own and only law,

And lives and dies by its own will.
It was our fate, and not our sin,
That we should love, and love should
win.

Not bound by oath, nor stayed by
prayer,

Nor held by thirst of strong desire, Love lives like fragrance in the air.

And dies as breaking waves expire. 'Twas death, not falsehood, bade us part,

The death of love that broke my heart.

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I will not wake the sleeping lyre;
I will not strain the chords of
thought:

The sweetest fruit of all desire

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Till now his genius fills a throne, And homage makes his realm complete.

Comes its own way, and comes un-One meed of justice, long delayed. sought. One crowning grace his virtues crave!

Though all the bards of earth were Ah, take, thou great and injured

dead,

And all their music passed away, What nature wishes should be said She'll find the rightful voice to say!

Her heart is in the shimmering leaf,

The drifting cloud, the lonely sky, And all we know of bliss or grief

She speaks, in forms that cannot die.

shade,

The love that sanctifies the grave.

And may thy spirit, hovering nigh,
Pierce the dense cloud of darkness

through,

And know, with fame that cannot die,

Thou hast the world's compassion

too!

GEORGE WITHER.

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FROM "POVERTY."

THE works my calling doth propose, Let me not idly shun;

For he whom idleness undoes,

Is more than twice undone: If my estate enlarge I may,

Enlarge my love for Thee;
And though I more and more decay,
Yet let me thankful be.

For be we poor or be we rich,
If well employed we are,
It neither helps nor hinders much,
Things needful to prepare;
Since God disposeth riches now,
As manna heretofore.
The feeblest gatherer got enow,
The strongest got no more.
Nor poverty nor wealth is that
Whereby we may acquire
That blessed and most happy state,
Whereto we should aspire;
But if Thy Spirit make me wise,
And strive to do my best,
There may be in the worst of these
A means of being blessed.

The rich in love obtain from Thee
Thy special gifts of grace;
The poor in spirit those men be
Who shall behold Thy face:
Lord! grant I may be one of these,
Thus poor, or else thus rich;
E'en whether of the two Thou please
I care not greatly which.

FOR A WIDOWER OR WIDOW,

How near me came the hand of death,

When at my side he struck my dear,
And took away the precious breath
Which quickened my beloved peer!

How helpless am I thereby made-
By day how grieved, by night how

sad

And now my life's delight is gone, Alas! how am I left alone!

The voice which I did more esteem Than music in her sweetest key, Those eyes which unto me did seem More comfortable than the day

Those now by me, as they have been!

Shall never more be heard or seen; But what I once enjoyed in them Shall seem hereafter as a dream.

All earthly comforts vanish thus-
So little hold of them have we
That we from them or they from us
May in a moment ravished be;

Yet we are neither just nor wise
If present mercies we despise,
Or mind not how there may be made
A thankful use of what we had.

I therefore do not so bemoan,
Though these beseeming tears I drop,
The loss of my beloved one
As they that are deprived of hope;
But in expressing of my grief
My heart receiveth some relief,
And joyeth in the good I had,
Although my sweets are bitter made.

Lord, keep me faithful to the trust
Which my dear spouse reposed in me!
To him now dead preserve me just
In all that should performed be;

For though our being man and wife Extendeth only to this life, Yet neither life nor death should end The being of a faithful friend.

Those helps which I through him enjoyed,

Let Thy continual aid supplyThat, though some hopes in him are void,

I always may on Thee rely;

And whether I shall wed again,
Or in a single state remain,

Unto Thine honor let it be, And for a blessing unto me.

FOR A SERVANT.

DISCOURAGE not thyself, my soul,
Nor murmur, though compelled we be
To live subjected to control!
When many others may be free;
For though the pride of some dis
dains

Our mean and much despised lot,
We shall not lose our honest pains,
Nor shall our sufferance be forgot.

To be a servant is not base,
If baseness be not in the mind,
For servants make but good the place,
Whereto their Maker them assigned:
The greatest princes do no more,
And if sincerely I obey,
Though I am now despised and poor,
I shall become as great as they.

The Lord of heaven and earth was pleased

A servant's form to undertake;
By His endurance I am eased,
And serve with gladness for His sake:
Though checked unjustly I should be,
With silence I reproofs will bear,
For much more injured was He
Whose deeds most worthy praises

were.

He was reviled, yet naught replied,
And I will imitate the same;
For though some faults may be de
nied,

In part I always faulty am:
Content with meek and humble heart,
I will abide in my degree,

And act an humble servant's part,
Till God shall call me to be free.

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