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Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake,
Night, whose dawn shall never break,
Till future life, future no more,
To light, and joy the good restore,
To light and joy unknown before!

Stranger, go, Heaven be thy guide,
Quod the beadsman of Nithside.

Robert Burns



Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden flower grows wild;
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
Remote from towns, he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his

Unskilful he to fawn, or look for power,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train—
He chid their wanderings, but reliev'd their pain:
The long remember'd beggar was his guest,
Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast;
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his wants allow'd:
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were

Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learnt to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits or their wants to scan,
His pity gave, ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt, at every call, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all. And as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproVd each dull delay, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whisperM praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray. The service past, around the pious man With ready zeal each honest rustic ran; E'en children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile. L

His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd; Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares dis

tress'd: To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are

spread, Eternal sunshines settles on its head.

O. Goldsmith



In the days of our forefathers, the gallant days

of old, When Cress/s wondrous tale in Europe's ears was

told; When the brave and gentle Prince, with his heroic

peers, Met France and all her knighthood in the vineyards

of Poictiers; When captive kings on Edward's state right humbly

did attend; When England's chivalry began the gartered knee

to bend; Then in the foremost place, among the noblest of

the land, Stood Wykeham, the great Bishop, upon the king's

right hand.

But when gracious Edward slept, and Richard wore

the crown, Forth came good William Wykeham, and meekly

knelt him down. Then out spake young King Richard: "What boon

can Wykeham ask, Which can surpass his worth, or our bounty overtask? For art thou not our Chancellor? and where in all

the realm Is a wiser man or better, to guide the labouring

helm? And thou know^t the holy lore, and the mason's

cunning skill: So speak the word, good Wykeham, for thou shalt

have thy will."

"I ask not wealth nor honour," the Bishop lowly

said, 8 Too much of both thy grandsire's hand heaped on

a poor monk's head: This world it is a weary load, it presses down my

soul; Fain would I pay my vows, and to Heaven restore

the whole. Grant me that two fair Colleges, beneath thy

charters sure, At Oxford and at Winchester, for ever may

endure, Which Wykeham's hands shall raise upon the

grassy sod, In the name of Blessed Mary, and for the love of


The king he sealed the charters, and Wykeham

traced the plan, And God, Who gave him wisdom, prospered the

lowly man: So two fair Colleges arose, one in calm Oxford's

glade, And one where Itchen sparkles beneath the planetree shade. There seventy true-born English boys he nourished

year by year In the nurture of good learning, and in God's holy

fear; And gave them steadfast laws, and bade them never

move Without sweet sign of brotherhood and gentle links

of love.

They grew beside his pastoral throne, and kept his

counsels sage, And the good man rejoiced to bear such fruit in his

old age: He heard the pealing notes of praise, which morn

and evening rung Forth from their vaulted chapel, by their clear

voices sung; His eye beheld them two by two their comely order

keep Along the Minster's sacred aisles, and up the beechcrowned steep; And, when he went to his reward, they shed the

pious tear, And sang the hallowed requiem over his saintly


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