Still it is true, and over true,
That I delight to close
This book of life, self-wise and new,
With rights, though not too closely scanned, Enjoyed as far as known,
With will by no reverse unmanned,
With pulse of even tone,
They from to-day and from to-night
Expected nothing more
Than yesterday and yesternight
Had proffered them before,
To them was life a simple art
A game where each man took his part,
A battle whose great scheme and scope
Content, as men-at-arms, to cope
Each with his fronting foe.
Man now his virtue's diadem
Puts on and proudly wears;
Great thoughts, great feelings, came tɔ them,
Like instincts, unawares :
Blending their souls' sublimest needs
With tasks of every day,
They went about their gravest deeds
As noble boys at play.
THE WORTH OF HOURS.
And what if Nature's fearful wound
For that their spirits never swooned
For that their love but flowed more fast,
Their charities more free,
Not conscious what mere drops they cast
A man's best things are nearest him,
It is the distant and the dim
That we are sick to greet:
For flowers that grow our hands beneath,
We struggle and aspire,
Our hearts must die, except they breathe
Yet, Brothers, who up Reason's hill
O, loiter not! those heights are chill, —
And still restrain your haughty gaze,
Remembering distance leaves a haze
THE WORTH OF HOURS. — Milnes.
BELIEVE not that your inner eye
The worth of Hours as they go by:
For every man's weak self, alas!
Makes him to see them, while they pass,
But if in earnest care you would
Those surely are not fairly spent,
And more, though free from seeming harm, You rest from toil of mind or arm,
Or slow retire from Pleasure's charm,
If then a painful sense comes on
Of something from your being's chain
Upon your heart this truth
So should we live, that every Hour
That every Thought and every Deed
Esteeming Sorrow, whose employ
ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. - Leigh Hunt.
ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!)
"What writest thou?" The vision raised his head, And, with a look made all of sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. 66
Nay, not so,"
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
WHEN Fancy will continually rehearse
Home yestern eve I wearily returned,
Though bright my morning mood and short my way,
But sad experience, in one moment earned,
Can crush the heaped enjoyments of the day.
Passing the corner of a populous street,
There her small commerce, in the chill March weather,
It was a frightful thought to set together
Those luxuries and largess of the earth,
To me that odorous purple ministers
Think, after all this lapse of hungry hours
Rest on your woodland banks and wither there,
FROM ELEONORA. - Dryden.
As precious gums are not for lasting fire,