Tell me, ye gentle winds
That round my pathway play,
Is there no place on earth
Where printer's get their pay?
The whispering breeze went by
With accents filled with woe;
A voice borne on the sorrowing air,
In sadness answered "No."
Tell me,…
My God! is any hour so sweet, From blush of morn to evening star, As that which calls me to Thy feet,
The hour of prayer?
Blest is that tranquil hour of morn, And blest that hour of solemn eve, When on the wings of prayer upborne,
The world I…
I watch for thee when parting day
Sheds on the earth a lingering ray;
When his last blushes o'er the rose
A richer tint of crimson throws,
And every flowert's leaves are curled
Like beauty shrinking from the world;
When silence reigns o'er lawn…
My days pass pleasantly away;
My nights are blest with sweepest sleep;
I fees no symptom's of decay;
I have no cause to mourn nor weep;
My foes are impotent and shy;
My friends are neither false nor cold,
And yet, of late, I often sigh—
I'm…
I passed, one autumn morn, a wanderer in the wood,His large sade eyes peered on the ground, his feet the dead leaves strewedAnd the hazy Indian summer fell on the woodland drear,And not unlike the wanderer's heart, the world was sad and sear;But…
Hind quarters of the type of innocence,Whether with peas and mint I must dispenseOr go the twain, blaspheming the expense.And thus enjoy thee in the fullest sense,
That is the question.
Rear section of young mutton—tender food—Just in the dawn of…
Deck thyself, my soul, with gladness,Leave the gloomy haunts of sadness,Come into the daylight's splendor,There with joy thy praises renderUnto Him whose boundless graceGrants thee at His feet a place;He whom all the heavens obey,Deigns to dwell in…
Rear on high the scaffold-altar! all the world will turn to see.How a man has dared to suffer that his brothers may be free!Rear it on some hill-side looking north and south and east and westWhere the wind from every quarter fresh may blow upon his…
Stand firm, John Brown, till your fate is o'er,
For the world, with an anxious eye,
Looks on as it seldom loked before,
As the hour of your doom draws night.
Stand firm, John Brown!
Dread not the blow that a coward deals,
And fear not the…
The following poem we regard as one of the most touchingly beautiful in the language, and well worthy of attentive perusal by every reader:Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,Filling the sky and earth below!Over the house-tops, over the street,Over the…
