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sires ; God, and your native land !
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.
On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake. Green be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days ; None knew thee but to love thee,
Nor named thee but to praise.
Shrines to no code or creed confined, -
The Meccas of the mind.
Through life's dark road his sordid way he wends, An incarnation of fat dividends.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
A Psalm of Life.
“Life is but an empty dream !”
And things are not what they seem.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting. *
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
Footprints on the sands of time.
Life is short, and the art long.
HIPPOCRATES, (Aphorism I.) Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
The Light of Stars. Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.
It is not always May.
There are no birds in last year's nest !
Maidenhood. Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet!
The Goblet of Life. O suffering, sad humanity! 0
ye afflicted ones, who lie Steeped to the lips in misery, Longing, and yet afraid to die,
Patient, though sorely tried !
But one dead lamb is there!
But has one vacant chair.
The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead.
The Golden Legend.
Time has laid his hand
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
A Metrical Essay.
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
That banner in the sky.
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
The lightning and the gale.
Urania. Yes, child of suffering, thou mayst well be sure, He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor!
And topples round the dreary west
Fatima. St. 3.
The Princess. Canto iv. Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret ; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
- Canto 7.
Sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet;