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For in our rather long description,
There's not a finger-breadth of fiction.
And should we mind the lofty wholly ?
And always let alone the lowly?

Go-to! The hearts of great and small,
Did not one Maker make them all?
And did he for the heirs of gold
Provide some much superior mould?
Not so..
All fashioned are by Him,
As much alike as limb to limb.

Doubtless endeavour may control
Surging emotion in the soul;
The wild upheaving of the will,
May learn the lesson, "Peace, be still;"
And, sway'd by Christ-like education,
Temper may rest in calm salvation.

And then, the week's work done, how sweet,
The evening hour when neighbours meet!
How the time flies, on silent wings,
Forgot, like grief, while gladness sings!
As June forgets last winter's weather,
So friends miss care when met together!

But as in summer, storm may rise,
And vex us with a sore surprise ;

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So, in the friendly circle even,
Anger and pride may shut out heaven;
May make us say the words we should not;
And do the very things we would not.

The cottage found,-and far be fiction,—
A meeting time of this description :
John, with his wife, and some few more,
Had turn'd out care, and shut the door;
At length, John's wife, without a joke,
Took up her parable, and spoke.

And then were touch'd untuneful chords;
And then were heard unkindly words,—
Words sad as weeping at a wedding;
And John, the style of "henpeck'd" dreading,
Tho' hard to him as aught in life,

Lifted his hand, and struck his wife!

Then care returning, ruled the room;
And joy retired in solemn gloom;
And silence, as tho' wild eyes glisten'd,
Gazed in the dark, and strangely listen'd;
But John, for full a fortnight, heard

Not, from his wife, another word.

Each morning saw him on his way
To where his place of labour lay;

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And the fair star of even burning,
Beheld him from his toil returning;
But could, or morn, or even, show
Where his wife's tongue had gone to? No!

It should be somewhere, he was certain; But who could tell behind what curtain? The clock his wife took wondrous pride in; But could her tongue the timepiece hide in? Unlikelier places have been read of ; So would he draw the dear clock's head off!

Scarce could the woman trust her eyes, The daring deed so wrought surprise! "What art thou looking for?" she cried; “All's right! I've found it!" he replied. From that time forth, her tutor❜d tongue Was fit for speech, or cheerful song.


Good temper is a pledge of pleasure;
But pride in haste is pain at leisure.

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BEAUTIFUL Summer! Io! Io!
Of lily and roseland, queen!
Reigning wherever the breezes blow,
Wherever the silvery waters flow,

In the blue above, and the bright below,—
Reigning in splendour serene!
Thou smilest upon us wherever we go!
Beautiful Summer! Io! Io!

Beautiful Summer! Io! Io!

How rosy the rising day!
Delight is upon us before we know,
Wherever the silvery waters flow,
Wherever the golden glories glow,
Or wither among the hay!
What welcoming voices wherever we go!
Beautiful Summer! Io! Io!

Beautiful Summer! Io! Io!
How lovely the sunset scene!


Fadeth the splendour so calmly slow,
As if it were almost unwilling to go;
As if it would rather yet stay to show

That Summer, the fair, is Queen!
Softly the shadows their curtain draw;-
Beautiful Summer! Io! Io!



OH! welcome to England! fair welcome!
Thou comest with music of Spring;

With love-lays that unto the dell come,—
With the songs that the sunbirds sing!
The winterly sadness,

Far passeth away;
And glory and gladness
Reign over the day!

And welcome to England! oh, welcome art thou,
As brightness to beauty,—as bloom to the bough!

Come gladly, as birds to the dell come,
When sunshine the summer robe weaves!

Believe in the homage of welcome,
As love in devotion believes!

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