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And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.
THE noon was shady, and soft airs
My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
(Two nymphs, adorned with every grace,
Now wantoned lost in flags and reeds,
Now starting into sight,
Pursued the swallow o'er the meads,
It was the time when Ouse displayed
Their beauties I intent surveyed,
With cane extended far, I sought
But still the prize, though nearly caught,
Beau marked my unsuccessful pains
And, puzzling, set his puppy brains
But with a cherup clear and strong,
I thence withdrew, and followed long
My ramble ended, I returned;
The floating wreath again discerned,
I saw him, with that lily cropped,
Impatient swim to meet
My quick approach, and soon he dropped
The treasure at my feet.
Charmed with the sight, "The world,” I cried,
"Shall hear of this thy deed:
My dog shall mortify the pride
But chief myself I will enjoin,
To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all."
I WAS a stricken deer, that left the herd.
He drew them forth, and healed, and bade me live.
O DAY most calm, most bright,
The fruit of this, the next world's bud,
The other days and thou
Make up one man; whose face thou art,
Man had straight forward gone
The which He doth not fill.
Sundays the pillars are
On which heaven's palace arched lies;
Which parts their ranks and orders.
The Sundays of man's life,
Threaded together on Time's string,
More plentiful than hope.
This day my Saviour rose,
And did enclose this light for His ;
Who want herbs for their wound.
The rest of our creation
Our great Redeemer did remove
With the same shake, which at His passion
Christ's hands, though nail'd, wrought our salvation,
The brightness of that day
We sullied by our foul offence:
Having a new at His expense,
Whose drops of blood paid the full price
Thou art a day of mirth:
And where the week days trail on ground,
O let me take thee at the bound,
Leaping with thee from seven to seven,
My stock lies dead, and no increase
Drop from above.