Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear Flowers laugh before thee on their beds To humbler functions, awful Power! And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live! LIII. W. Wordsworth. SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. (FROM SALIS.) NTO the silent land! Ah! who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, O thither, Into the Silent Land? Into the Silent Land! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band! H Who in Life's battle firm doth stand, O Land O Land! For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald by our fate allotted, Into the land of the great Departed, Into the Silent Land! H. W. Longfellow. LIV. ADDRESS OF COMUS. HE star that bids the shepherd fold,* His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream ; And Advice with scrupulous head. Strict Age and sour Severity With their grave saws + in slumber lie. We that are of purer fire Imitate the starry quire,‡ Who in their nightly watchful spheres * Fold, fold their flocks. Saws, sayings, maximis. Choir, The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, Trip the pert faeries and the dapper elves. J. Milton. LV. RUTH. HE stood breast high amid the corn, On her cheek an autumn flush, Round her eyes her tresses fell, And her hat, with shady brim, * Morrice, or Moorish dance. Sure, I said, heaven did not mean, Share my harvest and my home. LVI. SLEEP. 'He giveth His beloved sleep.'-Psalm cxxvii. 2. T. Hood. 1. F all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward into souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep, Now tell me if that any is, For gift or grace, surpassing this— 'He giveth His beloved, sleep?' II. What would we give to our beloved? III. What do we give to our beloved? A little dust to overweep, And bitter memories to make The whole earth blasted for our sake. 'He giveth His belovéd, sleep.' IV. 'Sleep soft, beloved!' we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep; But never doleful dream again Shall break the happy slumber when 'He giveth His belovéd, sleep.' V. O earth, so full of dreary noises ! VI. His dews drop mutely on the hill, Though on its slope men sow and reap. More softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is floated overhead, VIL Ay, men may wonder while they scan But angels say—and through the word VIII. For me, my heart that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show, That sees through tears the mummers leap, Would now its wearied vision close, Who 'giveth His belovéd, sleep!' 1X. And friends, dear friends, when it shall be |