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Who is the honest man?

He that doth still and strongly good pursue,
To God, his neighbour and himself most true:
Whom neither force nor fawning can
Unpin or wrench from giving all their due.

Whose honesty is not

So loose or easy that a ruffling wind

Can blow away, or, glittering, look it blind :
Who rides his sure and easy trot

While the world now rides by, now lags behind.

Who, when great trials come,

Nor seeks, nor shuns them; but doth calmly stay, Till he the thing and the example weigh;

All being brought into a sum,

What place or person calls for, he doth pay.

Whom none can work or woo

To use in any thing, a trick or sleight;
For, above all things, he abhors deceit :

His words and works and fashion too
All of a piece, and all are clear and straight.

Who never melts or thaws

At close temptations; when the day is done,
His goodness sets not, but in dark can run :
The sun to others writeth laws,

And is their virtue; virtue is his sun...

Who, when he is to treat

With sick folks, women, those whom passions sway, Allows for that and keeps his constant way:

Whom others' faults do not defeat;

But though men fail him yet his part

Whom nothing can procure,

doth play.

When the world runs bias, from his will

To writhe his limbs, and share, not mend the ill.

This is the marksman safe and sure,

Who still is right, and prays to be so still.



Cease here longer to detain me, Fondest mother drowned in woe: Now thy kind caresses pain me, Morn advances-let me go.

See yon orient streak appearing!
Harbinger of endless day;

Hark! a voice the darkness cheering,
Calls my new-born soul away!

Lately launched, a trembling stranger,
On the world's wild boisterous flood;
Pierced with sorrows, tossed with danger,
Gladly I return to God.

Now my cries shall cease to grieve thee,
Now my trembling heart find rest;
Kinder arms than thine receive me,
Softer pillow than thy breast.

Weep not o'er these eyes that languish,
Upward turning toward their home:
Raptured they'll forget all anguish,

While they wait to see thee come.

There, my mother, pleasures centre-
Weeping, parting, care or woe,

Ne'er our father's house shall enter

Morn advances-let me go.

As through this calm, this holy dawning
Silent glides my parting breath,
To an everlasting morning,
Gently close my eyes in death.

Blessings endless, richest blessings,
Pour their streams upon thy heart!
(Though no language yet possessing,)
Breathes my spirit ere we part.

Yet to leave thee sorrowing rends me,
Though again his voice I hear


Rise! may every grace attend thee;

Rise! and seek to meet me there.'



On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;

And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of the scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steel to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of heaven

Far flashed the red artillery.

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