ON HIS BLINDNESS.-Milton. When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide; "Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" I fondly ask: But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need And post o'er land and ocean without rest; " WHAT BOOTS THE QUEST?-WORDSWORTH. LAMENT FOR GLENCAIRN.-BURNS Ye scattered birds that faintly sing, Can gladness bring again to me. The bridegroom may forget the bride That smiles sae sweetly on her knee: CORONACH.-SCOTT. He is gone on the mountain, he is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, when our need was the sorest; Red hand in the foray, how sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain, like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, thou art gone and forever! HUMAN FRAILTY.-DRUMMOND. A good, that never satisfies the mind; A sweet, with floods of gall that runs combined; A glory, at opinion's frown that lours; A treasury, which bankrupt time devours; A knowledge, than grave ignorance more blind; VIRTUE.-HERBERT. Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, My music shows ye have your closes, Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber, never gives; WESTMINSTER BRIDGE.-WORDSWORTH. In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill; LOVE. SHAKSPEARE. Let me not to the marriage of true minds O no! it is an ever fixèd mark, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. CROSSING THE BAR.-TENNYSON. Sunset and evening star And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep. Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell When I embark. For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar. MILTON.-WORDSWORTH. Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour; Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. So didst thou travel on life's common way BOSOM SIN. - HERBERT. Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round! NEVER AGAIN.-STODDARD. There are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain; Under manhood's sterner reign; But it never comes again! DISAPPOINTMENT.-Lowell. I pray thee call not this society; I asked for bread, thou givest me a stone; Souls of true men, of women who can move Souls that can hold with mine communion free. And all that makes us pure, and wise, and good, Come, broken-hearted, home again to die? No, Hope is left, and prays with bended head, "Give us this day, O God, our daily bread!" CHANGE.-DRUMMOND. Triumphing chariots, statues, crowns of bays, Sky-threatening arches, the rewards of worth, Books heavenly wise in sweet harmonious lays, Which men divine unto the world set forth; States, which ambitious minds in blood do raise, From frozen Tanais unto sun-burnt Gange; Gigantic frames, held wonders rarely strange,— Like spiders' webs, are made the sport of days. Nothing is constant but inconstant change: What's done is still undone, and, when undone, Into some other fashion it doth range. Thus goes the floating world beneath the Moon: Wherefore, my mind, above time, motion, place, Rise up, and steps unknown to Nature trace. THE SKYLARK.-HOGG. Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Blest is thy dwelling place, O to abide in the desert with thee! Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, |