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The human soul; pot utterly makeow
On bar deserere waits, no tongue bath shown;
CANUTE. A PLEASANT music floats along the mere, From monks in Ely chanting service high, Whileas Canute the king is rowing by: “My carsmen," quoth the mighty king, " draw near, That we the sweet song of the monks may hear!" He listens, all past conquests and all schemes Of future vanishing like empty dreams, Heart-touched, and haply not without a tear. The royal minstrel, ere the choir is still, While his free barge skims the smooth flood along, Gives to that rapture an accordant rhyme. () suffering earth! be thankful; sternest clime And rudest age are subject to the thrill Of heaven-descended piety and song.
OBLIGATIONS OF CIVIL TO RELIGIOUS
(Grave this within thy heart !) if spiritual things
1662. Nor shall the eternal roll of praise reject Those unconforming; whom one rigorous day Drives from their cures, a voluntary prey To poverty and grief and disrespect, And some to want as if by tempests wrecked On a wild coast; how destitute! did they Feel not that conscience never can betray; That peace of mind is virtue's sure effect. Their altars they forego, their homes they quit, Fields which they love, and paths they daily trod, And cast the future upon Providence; As men the dictate of whose inward sense Outweighs the world; whom self-deceiving wit Lures not from what they deem the cause of God.
PLACES OF WORSHIP. As star that shines dependent upon star Is to the sky while we look up in love; As to the deep fair ships which, though they move, Seem fixed to eyes that watch them from afar; As to the sandy desert fountains are, With palm-groves shaded at wide intervals, Whose fruit around the sun-burnt native falls Of roving tired or desultory war; Such to this British isle her Christian fanes, Each linked to each for kindred services;
'let spurv er seeple-towers with glittering vanes
u unishing her shapeis lurking among trees,
NON AD FAITE.
Reison, if negócried,
IN SIGHT OF THE TOUT DE
REMAINS ARE LAID.
ally bear the ills which bear I must:
And you, my offspring ! that do still remain,
TO THE AUTHOR'S PORTRAIT. [Painted at Rydal Mount, by W. Pickersgill, for St. John's
College, Cambridge.] Go, faithful portrait! and where long hath knelt Margaret, the saintly foundress, take thy place ; And, if time spare the colours for the grace Which to the work surpassing skill hath dealt, Thou, on thy rock reclined, though kingdoms melt And states be torn up by the roots, wilt seem To breathe in rural peace, to hear the stream, To think and feel as once the poet felt. Whate'er thy fate, those features have not grown Unrecognised through many a household tear, More prompt, more glad to fall, than drops of dew By morning shed around a flower half blown ; Tears of delight, that testified how true To life thou art, and, in thy truth, how dear!
“WHY ART THOU SILENT ?” WHY art thou silent? Is thy love a plant Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air Of absence withers what was once so fair? Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant? Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant, As would my deeds have been, with hourly care,
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE.
What awful perspective! while from our sight