Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

culable happiness and delight to the world, which thanks them in return with an immense kindliness, respect, affection. It may not be our chance, brother scribe, to be endowed with such merit, or rewarded with such fame. But the rewards of these men are rewards paid to our service. We may not win the bâton or epaulettes; but God give us strength to guard the honor of the flag!

AFFLICTION.

George Herbert.

WHEN first Thou didst entice to Thee my heart,

I thought the service brave:
So many joys I writ down for my part,

Besides what I might have

Out of my stock of natural delights,

Augmented with Thy Grace's perquisites.

I looked on Thy furniture so fine,

And made it fine to me;

Thy glorious household-stuff did me entwine,

And 'tice me unto Thee;

Such stars I counted mine: both heaven and earth
Paid me my wages in a world of mirth.

What pleasures could I want, whose King I served,
Where joys my fellows were?

Thus argued into hopes, my thoughts reserved
No place for grief or fear:

Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place,

And made her youth and fierceness seek Thy face.

At first Thou gav'st me milk and sweetnesses,
I had my wish and way;

My days were straw'd with flow'rs and happinesses;
There was no month but May.

But with my years sorrow did twist and grow,
And made a party unawares for woe.

[blocks in formation]

Thus doth Thy power cross-bias me, not making Thine own gift good, yet me from my ways taking.

Now I am here, what Thou wilt do with me
None of my books will show :

I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree, -
For sure then I should grow

To fruit or shade; at least some bird would trust
Her household to me, and I should be just.

Yet though Thou troublest me, I must be meek;
In weakness must be stout.

Well, I will change the service, and go seek
Some other master out.

Ah, my dear God, though I am clean forgot,
Let me not love Thee, if I love Thee not.

But oh! that deep
Down the green hil
A savage place! as
As e'er beneath a w
By woman wailing
And from this chas
As if this earth in 1-
Amid whose swift F
Huge fragments va
Or chaffy grain ben
And 'mid these dan
It flung up moment
Five miles meander
Through wood and
Then reached the c
And sank in tumult
And 'mid this tumu
Ancestral voices pr

The shadow of
Floated midwa

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

** an. I de light to the world which thanks them Letse kindliness, respect, affection. It ar ein v, brother scrite, to be endowed with rwarded with such fame. But the rewards of waris paid to our service. We may not win ttes; but God give us strength to guard

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors][merged small][merged small]
[merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]
[ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]

first Thou gav'st me milk and sweetnesses.
I had my wish and way;

[ocr errors]

days were straw'd with flow'rs and happinesses: There was no month but May.

with my years sorrow did twist all gro

d made a party unawares for wOL.

t lest perchance I should tot i E
In my unhappiness,

rning my purge to food. The rowest me
Into more sicknesses:

us doth Thy power cross-bah bt RENE
ine own gift good, yet me to

ow I am here, what Thot wit as with me

None of my books r read, and sigh, and wist

For sure then I shot

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

grow

tor shade: at kas suure would that

Her household to me air

....

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors]

will change the servo, aut y k the other master out.

1

dear God though I au can forgog

Let me not love Thee. 1 ore Twee not.

BEGONE, DULL CARE.

BEGONE, dull care! I prythee begone from me: Begone, dull care! thou and I shall never agree. Long time thou hast been tarrying here, And fain thou wouldst me kill;

But i' faith, dull care,

Thou never shalt have thy will.

Too much care will make a young man gray;
Too much care will turn an old man to clay.
My wife shall dance, and I will sing,

So merrily pass the day;

For I hold it is the wisest thing

To drive dull care away.

IN AN ALBUM.

James Russell Lowell.

THE misspelt scrawl, upon the wall
By some Pompeian idler traced,
In ashes packed (ironic fact!)
Lies eighteen centuries uneffaced,
While many a page of bard and sage,
Deemed once mankind's immortal gain,
Lost from Time's ark, leaves no more mark
Than a keel's furrow through the main.

« ZurückWeiter »