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Beyond the clouds, beyond the waves that roar,
There may indeed, or may not be, a shore,
Where fields as green, and hands and hearts as true,
The old forgotten semblance may renew,
And offer exiles driven far o'er the salt sea foam
Another home.

But toil and pain must wear out many a day,
And days bear weeks, and weeks bear months away,
Ere, if at all, the weary traveller hear,
With accents whispered in his wayworn ear,
A voice he dares to listen to, say, Come
To thy true home.

Come home, come home! And where a home hath he
Whose ship is driving o'er the driving sea?
Through clouds that mutter, and o'er waves that roar,
Say, shall we find, or shall we not, a shore
That is, as is not ship or ocean foam,
Indeed our home?

Qua Cursum Ventus.

AS ships, becalmed at eve, that lay
With canvas drooping, side by side,
Two towers of sail at dawn of day

Are scarce long leagues apart descried;

When fell the night, upsprung the breeze,
And all the darkling hours they plied,

Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas
By each was cleaving, side by side:

E'en so—but why the tale reveal

Of those, whom year by year unchanged,

Brief absence joined anew to feel,
Astounded, soul from soul estranged?

At dead of night their sails were filled,
And onward each rejoicing steered—

Ah, neither blame, for neither willed,
Or wist, what first with dawn appeared!

To veer, how vain! On, onward strain,
Brave barks! In light, in darkness too,

Through winds and tides one compass guides-
To that, and your own selves, be true.

But O blithe breeze! and O great seas,
Though ne'er, that earliest parting past,

On your wide plain they join again,
Together lead them home at last.

One port, methought, alike they sought,
One purpose hold where'er they fare,—

O bounding breeze, O rushing seas!
At last, at last, unite them there!

'what Went Ye Out For To See."

ACROSS the sea, along the shore,
In numbers ever more and more,
From lonely hut and busy town,
The valley through, the mountain down,
What was it ye went out to see,
Ye silly folk of Galilee?
The reed that in the wind doth shake?
The weed that washes in the lake?
The reeds that waver, the weeds that float ?-
'A young man preaching in a boat.'

What was it ye went out to hear,
By sea and land, from far and near?
A teacher? Rather seek the feet
Of those who sit in Moses' seat,

Go humbly seek, and bow to them,
Far off in great Jerusalem.
From them that in her courts ye saw,
Her perfect doctors of the law,
What is it came ye here to note?—
'A young man preaching in a boat.'

A prophet! Boys and women weak!

Declare, or cease to rave;
Whence is it he hath learned to speak?

Say, who his doctrine gave?
A prophet? Prophet wherefore he

Of all in Israel tribes ?—
He teacheth with authority,

And not as do the Scribes.

Where Are The Great, Whom Thou Wouldst Wish
To Praise Thee?

WHERE are the great, whom thou wouldst wish to praise
thee?
Where are the pure, whom thou wouldst choose to love thee?
Where are the brave, to stand supreme above thee,
Whose high commands would cheer, whose chiding raise thee?
Seek, seeker, in thyself; submit to find
In the stones, bread, and life in the blank mind.

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Charles Kingsley.

Born 1819. Died 1875.

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The Sands Of Dee.

MARY, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee;' The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, And all alone went she.

The creeping tide crept up along the sand,
And o'er and o'er the sand,
And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see.
The blinding mist came down, and hid the land-
And never home came she.

'Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair—
A tress o' golden hair,
O' drowned maiden's hair,
Above the nets at sea?
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
Among the stakes on Dee.'

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