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There is no Death! What seems so is transition.
This life of mortal breath
Time has laid his hand Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, But as a harper lays his open palm Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.
The Golden Legend. Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they
grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all. Retribution, From the Sinngedichte of Friedrich
The Building oj the Ship.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
THE *HE freeman casting with unpurchased hand The vote that shakes the turrets of the land.
A Metrical Essay.
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down !
Long has it waved on high,
That banner in the sky. A Metrical Essay.
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
The lightning and the gale.
Yes, child of suffering, thou mayest well be sure,
You think they are crusaders, sent
From some infernal clime,
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
AND what is so rare as a day in June ?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
The Vision of Sir Laun fal. This child is not mine as the first was,
I cannot sing it to rest,
And bless it upon my breast. The Changeling
Yet it lies in my little one's cradle
And sits in my little one's chair,
Transfigures its golden hair.
To win the secret of a weed's plain heart.
Earth's noblest thing, a woman perfected.
Truth for ever on the scaffold, Wrong for ever on the
The Present Crisis.
Before man made us citizens, great Nature made us
F. S. KEY. 1779-1843.
us a nation !
The Star-spangled Banner.
ALBERT G. GREENE.
OLD Grimes is dead; that good old man,
We ne'er shall see him more:
All buttoned down before.
JOHN LOUIS UHLAND.
TAKE, O boatman, thrice thy fee;
Take,—1 give it willingly;
CHRISTOPHER P.: CRANCH.
HOUGHT is deeper than all speech;
Feeling deeper than all thought;
What unto themselves was taught.
DRUNKARD clasp his teeth, and not undo 'em
The Revenger's Tragedy. Act üi. Sc. 1.
AND the cold marble leapt to life a god,
The Belvidere A pollo. Too fair to worship, too divine to love.
WHY should we faint and fear to live alone,
Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die, Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own, Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh.
The Christian Year. Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity.
Burial of the Dead.