FROM the heart of Waumbek Methn… lake that never fails, Falls the Saco in the green lap o… intervales; There, in wild and virgin freshnes…

'T is the noon of the spring-time,… In the wind-shaken elm or the mapl… For green meadow-grasses wide leve… And blowing of drifts where the cr… Where wind-flower and violet, ambe…

Make, for he loved thee well, our… From wave and shore a low and long… For him, whose last look sought th… The unknown way from which no step… And ye, O ancient pine-trees, at…

Not on Penobscot’s wooded bank th… Of the sought City rose, nor yet… The winding Charles, nor where th… Of Naumkeag’s haven rises and ret… The vision tarried; but somewhere…

WITH clearer light, Cross of th… In blue Brazilian skies; And thou, O river, cleaving half… From sunset to sunrise, From the great mountains to the A…

Spare me, dread angel of reproof, And let the sunshine weave to-day Its gold-threads in the warp and w… Of life so poor and gray. Spare me awhile; the flesh is weak…

‘The cross, if rightly borne, shal… No burden, but support to thee;’ So, moved of old time for our sake… The holy monk of Kempen spake. Thou brave and true one! upon whom

Gallery of sacred pictures manifol… A minster rich in holy effigies, And bearing on entablature and fri… The hieroglyphic oracles of old. Along its transept aureoled martyr…

MEN of the North-land! where’s t… Of the true-hearted and the unshac… Sons of old freemen, do we but inh… Their names alone? Is the old Pilgrim spirit quenche…

In the old days (a custom laid asi… With breeches and cocked hats) the… Their wisest men to make the publi… And so, from a brown homestead, wh… Drinks the small tribute of the M…

Above, below, in sky and sod, In leaf and spar, in star and man, Well might the wise Athenian scan The geometric signs of God, The measured order of His plan.

Oh, greenly and fair in the lands… The vines of the gourd and the ric… And the rock and the tree and the… With broad leaves all greenness an… Like that which o’er Nineveh’s pr…

A NOTELESS stream, the Birchb… Beneath its leaning trees; That low, soft ripple is its own, That dull roar is the sea’s. Of human signs it sees alone

IN the solemn days of old, Two men met in Boston town, One a tradesman frank and bold, One a preacher of renown. Cried the last, in bitter tone: