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ANNIE OF THARAW.
Annie of Tharaw, my riches, my good,
Oppression, and sickness, and sorrow, and pain,
As the palm-tree standeth so straight and so tall,
Some seek for dissension, and trouble, and strife ;
It is this, O my Annie, my heart's sweetest rest,
This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell ;
THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR.
Yet I saw but one among them
Who hath soothed my soul with love.
In his mantle, — wound about him,
As their robes the sowers wind,Bore he swallows and their fledglings,
Flowers and weeds of every kind.
And so stands he calm and childlike,
High in wind and tempest wild ; 0, were I like him exalted,
I would be like him, a child !
And my songs, -green leaves and blossoms,
To the doors of heaven would bear, Calling, even in storm and tempest,
Round me still these birds of air.
THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL.
FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN.
On the cross the dying Saviour
Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm, Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling
In his pierced and bleeding palm.
And by all the world forsaken,
Sees he how with zealous care At the ruthless nail of iron
A little bird is striving there.
Stained with blood and never tiring,
With its beak it doth not cease, From the cross 'twould free the Saviour,
Its Creator's Son release.
And the Saviour speaks in mildness :
“ Blest be thou of all the good! Bear, as token of this moment,
Marks of blood and holy rood !”
And that bird is called the crossbill;
Covered all with blood so clear, In the groves of pine it singeth
Songs, like legends, strange to hear.