THE DEATH BED.

We watched her breathing through the night,
Her breathing, soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seemed to speak,

So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers
To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied;

We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,

Her quiet eyelids closed;-she had
Another morn than ours.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife,
Come! hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet its music on my life,
There is more than music in it.

-Hood.

And hark, how blithe the throstle sings,
He too is no mean creature;

Come forth into the heart of things,

Let nature be your teacher.

One impulse from a vernal mood,

Will teach you more of man,

Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

Enough of science and of art,

Close up those barren leaves,

Come forth and bring with you a heart,

And listen! and receive.

-Wordsworth.

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT.

Is there for honest poverty

That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,

Our toils obscure an' a' that,

The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on homely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that;

Gie fools their silk an' knaves their wine,
A Man's a Man for a' that;

For a' that, an' a' that,

Their tinsel, show, an' a' that,

The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a 'that.

Ye see yon birkie ca'd 'a lord,'
Wha struts an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that;
The man o' independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can make a belted knight,

A marquis, duke, an' a' that;

But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith, he mauna fa' that!

For a' that, and' a' that,

Their dignities an' a' that;

The pith o' sense an' pride o' worth

Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may

(As come it will for a' that)

That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.

For a' that, an' a' that,

That Man to Man, the world o'er,

It's coming yet for a' that,

Shall brothers be for a' that.

-Burns.

SONNETS

THIRTIETH SONNET.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan_ the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.

Shakespeare.

EARTH'S LIVING WORD.

O Earth! thou hast not any wind that blows
Which is not music; every weed of thine,
Pressed rightly, flows in aromatic wine;
And every humble hedge-row flower that grows,
And every little brown bird that doth sing,
Hath something greater than itself, and bears
A living word to every living thing,

Albeit it hold the message unawares.

All shapes and sounds have something which is not
Of them; a spirit broods amid the grass;
Vague outlines of the everlasting thought
Lie in the melting shadows as they pass;
The touch of an eternal presence thrills
The fringes of the sunsets and the hills.

-Realf.

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER.

Much have I travel'd in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told

That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies

When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star'd at the Pacific-and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,
'Doth God exact day labor, light denied?'
I fondly ask. But Patience to prevent

That murmur soon replies, 'God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.'

-Milton.