To her old leaves new myriads?
Such and so grew these holy piles,
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles.
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon
As the best gem upon her zone;
And morning opes with haste her lids
To gaze upon the Pyramids;
O'er England's Abbeys bends the sky
As on its friends with kindred eye;
For, out of Thought's interior sphere
These wonders rose to upper air,
And Nature gladly gave them place,
Adopted them into her race,
And granted them an equal date
With Andes and with Ararat.

These temples grew as grows the grass;
Art might obey, but not surpass.
The passive Master lent his hand
To the vast Soul that o'er him planned,
And the same power that reared the

Bestrode the tribes that knelt within.
Ever the fiery Pentecost

Girds with one flame the countless host, Trances the heart through chanting choirs,

And through the priest the mind inspires.

The word unto the prophet spoken
Was writ on tables yet unbroken;
The word by seers or sibyls told,
In groves of oak or fanes of gold,
Still floats upon the morning wind,
Still whispers to the willing mind.
One accent of the Holy Ghost
The heedless world hath never lost.
I know what say the Fathers wise,
The book itself before me lies, -
Old Chrysostom, best Augustine,
And he who blent both in his line,
The younger Golden Lips or mines,
Taylor, the Shakespeare of divines;
His words are music in my ear,
I see his cowled portrait dear,
And yet, for all his faith could see,
I would not the good bishop be.


THE word of the Lord by night

To the watching Pilgrims came, As they sat by the seaside,

And filled their hearts with flame.

God said, I am tired of kings, I suffer them no more;

Up to my ear the morning brings The outrage of the poor.

Think ye I made this ball
A field of havoc and war,
Where tyrants great and tyrants small
Might harry the weak and poor?

My angel, his name is Freedom,-
Choose him to be your king;
He shall cut pathways east and west,
And fend you with his wing.


Lo! I uncover the land,

Which I hid of old time in the West, As the sculptor uncovers the statue When he has wrought his best;

I show Columbia, of the rocks Which dip their foot in the seas, And soar to the air-borne flocks

Of clouds, and the boreal fleece.,

I will divide my goods;

Call in the wretch and the slave: None shall rule but the humble,

And none but Toil shall have.

I will have never a noble,

No lineage counted great; Fishers and choppers and ploughmen Shall constitute a state.

Go, cut down trees in the forest, And trim the straightest boughs; Cut down trees in the forest,

And build me a wooden house.

Call the people together,

The young men and the sires, The digger in the harvest-field, Hireling, and him that hires;

And here in a pine state-house They shall choose men to rule In every needful faculty,

In church and state and school.

Lo, now! if these poor men

Can govern the land and sea, And make just laws below the sun, As planets faithful be.

And ye shall succor men;
'Tis nobleness to serve;
Help them who cannot help again:
Beware from right to swerve.

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How it swells! How it dwells

On the Future! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells, To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!



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At the melancholy menace of their tone!

What a world of solemn thought their
monody compels !
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright

For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.

And the people,-ah, the people, —
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,

And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone,
They are neither man nor woman,
They are neither brute nor human,
They are Ghouls:

And their king it is who tolls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls,


A pæan from the bells! And his merry bosom swells

With the pean of the bells!
And he dances and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pean of the bells,-
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the throbbing of the bells, -
Of the bells, bells, bells, -
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,

As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,

To the rolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells,

To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, -
Bells, bells, bells,
To the moaning and the groaning of the

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BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead!

Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed;

She plucked that piece of geraniumflower,

Beginning to die, too, in the glass.
Little has yet been changed, I think, —.

The shutters are shut, no light may pass | I loved you, Evelyn, all the while;
My heart seemed full as it could hold, -
There was place and to spare for the frank
young smile

Save two long rays through the hinge's

And the red young mouth and the hair's young gold. So, hush,

I will give you this leaf to keep,

See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand. There, that is our secret! go to sleep; You will wake, and remember, and understand.

Sixteen years old when she died!
Perhaps she had scarcely heard my


It was not her time to love: beside,
Her life had many a hope and aim,
Duties enough and little cares,

And now was quiet, now astir, —
Till God's hand beckoned unawares,
And the sweet white brow is all of her.

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For thence-a paradox

Which comforts while it mocks

Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail :

What I aspired to be,

And was not, comforts me:

And I shall thereupon

A brute I might have been, but would Take rest, ere I be gone

not sink i' the scale.

Not once beat, "Praise be Thine!

I see the whole design,

I, who saw Power, shall see Love perfect


Perfect I call Thy plan:

Thanks that I was a man!

Let us cry, "All good things
Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now,
than flesh helps soul!"

Therefore I summon age
To grant youth's heritage,

Life's struggle having so far reached its


Thence shall I pass, approved


What is he but a brute

Fearless and unperplexed,
When I wage battle next,

Whose flesh hath soul to suit,
Whose spirit works lest arms and legs What weapons to select, what armor to
want play?


To man, propose this test, -
Thy body at its best,

Youth ended, I shall try

How far can that project thy soul on its My gain or loss thereby;

lone way?

For pleasant is this flesh;

Our soul, in its rose-mesh

Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for

A man, for aye removed
From the developed brute; a God though
in the germ.


Would we some prize might hold

To match those manifold


Yet gifts should prove their use:

I own the Past profuse

Of power each side, perfection every turn:
Eves, ears took in their dole,
Brain treasured up the whole;
Should not the heart beat once, "How A certain moment cuts
good to live and learn?"

Once more on my adventure brave and

Let us not always say,


Spite of this flesh to-day

I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!"

As the bird wings and sings,

Be the fire ashes, what survives is gold:
And I shall weigh the same,

Give life its praise or blame:

Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old.

For note, when evening shuts,

So, still within this life,

Though lifted o'er its strife,

Maker, remake, complete, I trust what Let me discern, compare, pronounce at

thou shalt do!"

The deed off, calls the glory from the gray :
A whisper from the west

Shoots, "Add this to the rest,

Take it and try its worth: here dies another day."


"This rage was right i' the main,
That acquiescence vain :

The Future I may face now I have proved

the Past.'

For more is not reserved

To man, with soul just nerved

Possessions of the brute, — gain most, as To act to-morrow what he learns to-day :

we did best!

Here, work enough to watch

The Master work, and catch

Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play.

As it was better, youth

Should strive, through acts uncouth,

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