To give dissimilar, yet fruitful lands, The grain, or herb, or plant, that each demands; And share the joys your bounty may create; In colour these, and those delight the smell; Cowper CI MUTABILITY The sea of Fortune doth not even flow, Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web. No joy so great, but runneth to an end; Not always full of leaf, nor always spring; The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. CII EARLY RISING AND PRAYER When first thine eyes unveil, give thy soul leave To do the like; our bodies but forerun The spirit's duty: true hearts spread and heave Unto their God as flowers do to the sun; Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep Him company all day, and in Him sleep. Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer should Dawn with the day: these are set awful hours 'Twixt Heav'n and us; the manna was not good After sun-rising; far day sullies flowers: Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut, And Heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut. Walk with thy fellow creatures: note the hush And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring Or leaf but hath his morning hymn; each bush And oak doth know I Am.-Canst thou not sing? O leave thy cares and follies! go this way And thou art sure to prosper all the day. H. Vaughan CIII TO A CHILD My fairest child, I have no song to give you; For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: And so make life, death, and that vast for ever, One grand, sweet song. C. Kingsley CIV THE CHRISTIAN'S PROGRESS We, soldiers of an injured King, Are marching to the tomb. There, when the turmoil is no more, And all our powers decay, Yet not thus lifeless, thus inane, The vital spark shall lie, For o'er life's wreck that spark shall rise These ashes too, this little dust, Our Father's care shall keep, There love's soft dew o'er every eyc, And the long silent dust shall burst H. Kirke White CV THE CHARITIES OF THE POOR There is a thought so purely blest, It were not for the rich to blame, If they, whom fortune seems to scorn, To give the stranger's children bread, The daily sacrifice of years- The precious gifts of love and tears. Therefore lament not honest soul ! That Providence holds back from thee, The means thou might'st so well controlThe luxuries of charity. Manhood is nobler, as thou art; And should some chance thy coffers fill, How art thou sure to keep thine heart, To hold unchang'd thy loving will? Wealth, like all other power, is blind, And bears a poison in its core, To taint the best, if feeble mind, And madden that debas'd before. It is the battle, not the prize, That fills the hero's breast with joy; And industry the bliss supplies Which mere possession might destroy. CVI R. M. Milnes SAYING THE RESPONSES "What is the Church, and what am I?" To one frail drop of rain. "What boots one feeble infant tone To the full choir denied, or given, Where millions round the throne Are chanting morn and even ?" Nay, the kind watchers hearkening there Each half-note in the great Amen, J. Keble |