I write my name as one, On sands by waves o’errun Or winter’s frosted pane, Traces a record vain. Oblivion’s blankness claims

As a guest who may not stay Long and sad farewells to say Glides with smiling face away, Of the sweetness and the zest Of thy happy life possessed

A STRENGTH Thy service cannot… A faith which doubt can never dim, A heart of love, a lip of fire, O Freedom’s God! be Thou to him! Speak through him words of power a…

Maud Muller on a summer’s day Raked the meadow sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the we… Of simple beauty and rustic health… Singing, she wrought, and her merr…

THANK God for rest, where none… And none can make afraid; For Peace that sits as Plenty’s g… Beneath the homestead shade! Bring pike and gun, the sword’s re…

Who, looking backward from his man… Sees not the spectre of his misspe… And, through the shade Of funeral cypress planted thick b… Hears no reproachful whisper on th…

Low in the east, against a white,… The black-lined silhouette of the… And on a wintry waste Of frosted streams and hillsides b… Through thin cloud-films, a pallid…

Behind us at our evening meal The gray bird ate his fill, Swung downward by a single claw, And wiped his hooked bill. He shook his wings and crimson tai…

A track of moonlight on a quiet la… Whose small waves on a silver-sand… Whisper of peace, and with the low… Such harmonies as keep the woods a… And listening all night long for t…

WHEN first I saw our banner wave Above the nation’s council-hall, I heard beneath its marble wall The clanking fetters of the slave! In the foul market-place I stood,

Still linger in our noon of time And on our Saxon tongue The echoes of the home-born hymns The Aryan mothers sung. And childhood had its litanies

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,

A bending staff I would not break… A feeble faith I would not shake, Nor even rashly pluck away The error which some truth may sta… Whose loss might leave the soul wi…

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…

John Brown of Ossawatomie spake o… 'I will not have to shrive my soul… But let some poor slave-mother who… With her children, from the gallow… John Brown of Ossawatomie, they l…