Be pleased, O Lord, to take a peo… That Thine avenging sword has spa… That Thou hast parted from our li… And forced our neighbors’ lips to… Father of Mercies, with a heart c…

Let slaves and subjects with unvar… Before their sovereign execute sal… The freeman scorns one idol to ado… Tom, Dick and Harry and himself a…

I’m a gorgeous golden hero And my trade is taking life. Hear the twittle-twittle-tweero Of my sibillating fife And the rub-a-dub-a-dum

What! you were born, you animated… Within the shadow of the Capitol? 'Twas always thought (and Bancrof… His trusting readers) it was reare…

What! photograph in colors? 'Tis… And he who dreams it is not overwi… If colors are vibration they but s… And have no being. But if Tyndall… Why, come, then-photograph my lady…

Tut-tut! give back the flags - how… You veterans and heroes? Why should you at a kind intention… Like twenty Neros? Suppose the act was not so overwis…

The polecat, sovereign of its nati… Dashes damnation upon bad and good… The health of all the upas trees i… By exhalations deadlier than their… Poisons the rattlesnake and warts…

O very remarkable mortal, What food is engaging your jaws And staining with amber their port… 'It’s ‘baccy I chaws.’ And why do you sway in your walkin…

Sharon, ambitious of immortal sham… Fame’s dead-wall daubed with his i… Served in the Senate, for our sin… Each word a folly and each vote a… Law for our governance well skille…

We heard a song-bird trilling 'T was but a night ago. Such rapture he was rilling As only we could know. This morning he is flinging

O bear me, gods, to some enchanted… Where woman’s tears can antidote h…

The Seraphs came to Christ, and s… The man, presumptuous and overbold… Who boasted that his mercy could e… Thine own, is dead and on his way… Gravely the Saviour asked: ‘What…

Welcome, good friend; as you have… And found the joy of crime to be a… I hope you’ll hold your present fa… And not again be open to convictio… Your sins, though scarlet once, ar…

Come, sisters, weep!-our Baron de… Alas! has run away. If always we had kept him here He had not gone astray. Painter and grainer it were vain

A spitcat sate on a garden gate And a snapdog fared beneath; Careless and free was his mien, an… Held a fiddle-string in his teeth. She marked his march, she wrought…