I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste; Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long-since-cancelled woe, And moan the expense of many a vanished sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,

Which I now pay as if not paid before:
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.

On His Blindness

ON HIS BLINDNESS

WR

John Milton

HEN 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 Either man's work, or His own gifts: who best Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state

Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed

And post o'er land and ocean without rest,—
They also serve who only stand and wait.

THE LAND OF THE LEAL

Carolina, Lady Nairn

''M wearing awa’, Jean,

I

Like snaw when it's thaw, Jean,

I'm wearing awa'

To the land o' the leal.

There's nae sorrow there, Jean,
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,

The day is aye fair

In the land o' the leal.

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean,
Your task's ended noo, Jean,

And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.
Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean,

She was baith guid and fair, Jean,
Oh, we grudged her right sair
To the land o' the leal!

Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean,
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait on me

To the land o' the leal.
Now fare ye well, my ain Jean,
This warld's care is vain, Jean;
We'll meet and aye be fain
In the land o' the leal.

G

Benedicite

BENEDICITE

John Greenleaf Whittier

OD'S love and peace be with thee, where
So e'er this soft autumnal air

Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair!

Whether through city casements comes
Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms,
Or, out among the woodland blooms,

It freshens o'er thy thoughtful face,
Imparting, in its glad embrace,
Beauty to beauty, grace to grace!

Fair nature's book together read,
The old wood-paths that knew our tread,
The maple shadows overhead,—

The hills we climbed, the river seen
By gleams along its deep ravine,—
All keep thy memory fresh and green.
Where'er I look, where'er I stray,
Thy thought goes with me on my way,
And hence the prayer I breathe to-day;

O'er lapse of time and change of scene,
The weary waste which lies between
Thyself and me, thy heart I lean.

Thou lack'st not friendship's spellword nor The half-unconscious power to draw

All hearts to thine by Love's sweet law.

With these good gifts of God is cast
Thy lot, and many the charm thou hast
To hold the blessed angels fast.

If, then, a fervent wish for thee

The gracious heavens will heed from me, What should, dear heart, its burden be?

The sighing of a shaken reed,—
What I can I more than meekly plead
The greatness of our common need:

God's love, unchanging, pure, and true,
The Paraclete white-shining through
His peace, the fall of Hermon's dew!

With such a prayer, on this sweet day,
As thou mayst hear and thou may say,
I greet thee, dearest, far away!