We praise not now the poet’s art, The rounded beauty of his song; Who weighs him from his life apart Must do his nobler nature wrong. Not for the eye, familiar grown

BEARER of Freedom’s holy light, Breaker of Slavery’s chain and ro… The foe of all which pains the sig… Or wounds the generous ear of God… Beautiful yet thy temples rise,

I shall not soon forget that sight The glow of Autumn’s westering da… A hazy warmth, a dreamy light, On Raphael’s picture lay. It was a simple print I saw,

How sweetly come the holy psalms From saints and martyrs down, The waving of triumphal palms Above the thorny crown The choral praise, the chanted pra…

On these green banks, where falls… The shade of Autumn’s afternoon, The south wind blowing soft and sw… The water gliding at nay feet, The distant northern range uplit

Through Thy clear spaces, Lord, o… Formless and void the dead earth r… Deaf to Thy heaven’s sweet music,… To the great lights which o’er it… No sound, no ray, no warmth, no br…

WELCOME home again, brave seama… And the old heroic spirit of our e… With that front of calm endurance,… Pressed the iron of the prison, sm… Is the tyrant’s brand upon thee?…

Thine are all the gifts, O God! Thine the broken bread; Let the naked feet be shod, And the starving fed. Let Thy children, by Thy grace,

He has done the work of a true man… Crown him, honor him, love him. Weep, over him, tears of woman, Stoop manliest brows above him! O dusky mothers and daughters,

Speak and tell us, our Ximena, lo… O’er the camp of the invaders, o’e… Who is losing? who is winning? are… Look abroad, and tell us, sister,… Down the hills of Angostura still…

‘BRING out your dead!’ The midn… Heard and gave back the hoarse, lo… Harsh fell the tread of hasty feet… Glanced through the dark the coars… Her coffin and her pall.

Around Sebago’s lonely lake There lingers not a breeze to brea… The mirror which its waters make. The solemn pines along its shore, The firs which hang its gray rocks…

For ages on our river borders, These tassels in their tawny bloom… And willowy studs of downy silver, Have prophesied of Spring to come… For ages have the unbound waters

ACROSS the frozen marshes The winds of autumn blow, And the fen-lands of the Wetter Are white with early snow. But where the low, gray headlands

Thou dwellest not, O Lord of all In temples which thy children rais… Our work to thine is mean and smal… And brief to thy eternal days. Forgive the weakness and the pride…