And I know, now, how Jesus could liken I ask not a life for the dear ones, All radiant, as others have done, But that life may have just enough shadow I would pray God to guard them from evil, But a sinner must pray for himself. The twig is so easily bended, I have banished the rule and the rod; I have taught them the goodness of knowledge, They have taught me the goodness of God; My heart is the dungeon of darkness, Where I shut them for breaking a rule; My frown is sufficient correction; I shall leave the old house in the autumn, That meet me each morn at the door; The group on the green, and the flowers That are brought every morning for me. I shall miss them at morn and at even, May the little ones gather around me, CHARLES M. DICKINSON The Burial of Sir John Moore. Nor a drum was heard, not a funeral note, We buried him darkly at dead of night, No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that 's gone, But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stoneBut we left him alone with his glory. CHARLES WOLFE Song. If I had Thought. Ir I had thought thou couldst have died But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be. It never through my mind had passed And I on thee should look my last, And still upon that face I look, But when I speak, thou dost not say And now I feel, as well I may, If thou wouldst stay e'en as thou art, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been. I do not think, where'er thou art, And I perhaps may soothe this heart Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light ne'er seen before, As fancy never could have drawn, And never can restore. CHARLES WOLFE. Song.— Go, Forget Me. Go, forget me! Why should sorrow Brightly smile and sweetly sing. Like the Sun, thy presence glowing Go, thou vision wildly gleaming, CHARLES WOLFE. The First Miracle. Lympha pudica Deum vidit, et erubuit. The modest water saw its God, and blushed. RICHARD CRASHAW. A Javanese Poem. I Do not know where I shall die. I saw the great sea on the south coast, when I was there with my father making salt. If I die at sea, and my body is thrown into the deep water, then sharks will come: They will swim round my corpse, and ask, 'Which of us shall devour the body that goes down into the water?" I shall not hear it. I do not know where I shall die. I saw in a blaze the house of Pa-Ausoë, Which he himself had set on fire because he was mataglap. If I die in a burning house, glowing embers will fall on my corpse, And outside the house there will be many cries of men throwing water on the fire to kill it. I shall not hear it. I do not know where I shall die. I saw the little Si-Oenah fall out of a klappa tree, when he plucked the klappa for his mother. If I fall out of a klappa tree, I shall lie dead below in the shrubs, like Si-Oenah. Then my mother will not weep, for she is dead. But others will say with a loud voice, "See, there lies Saidjah!" I shall not hear it. Mata-glap. insane Klappa, cocoanut. |