FOUR hundred years ago a tangled… Lay sleeping on the west Atlantic… Their devious ways the Old World’… Content, and loved, and labored, d… While students still believed the…

I AM no priest of crooks nor cree… For human wants and human needs Are more to me than prophets’ deed… And human tears and human cares Affect me more than human prayers.

WHAT are the things that make li… A star gleam in the night. What hearts us for the coming fray… The dawn tints of the day. What helps to speed the weary mile…

When all is done, and my last word… And ye who loved me murmur, ‘He i… Let no one weep, for fear that I… And sorrow too that ye should sorr… When all is done and in the oozing…

(Lines on reading ‘Driftwood.’) Driftwood gathered here and there Along the beach of time; Now and then a chip of truth ‘Mid boards and boughs of rhyme;

Hyeah dat singin’ in de medders Whaih de folks is mekin’ hay? Wo’k is pretty middlin’ heavy Fu’ a man to be so gay. You kin tell dey 's somep’n specia…

Oh, de weathah it is balmy an’ de… Li’l’ gal, An’ de mockin’ bird is singin’ in… Li’l’ gal; Dere 's a hummin’ an’ a bummin’ in…

Oh, summer has clothed the earth In a cloak from the loom of the su… And a mantle, too, of the skies’ s… And a belt where the rivers run. And now for the kiss of the wind,

BREEZES blowin’ middlin’ brisk, Snow-flakes thro’ the air a-whisk, Fallin’ kind o’ soft an’ light, Not enough to make things white, But jest sorter siftin’ down

My neighbor lives on the hill, And I in the valley dwell, My neighbor must look down on me, Must I look up?—ah, well, My neighbor lives on the hill,

Slow moves the pageant of a climbi… Their footsteps drag far, far belo… And, unprevailing by their utmost… Seem faltering downward from each… No strange, swift—sprung exception…

When August days are hot an’ dry, When burning copper is the sky, I ‘d rather fish than feast or fly In airy realms serene and high. I ’d take a suit not made for look…

IT’s all a farce, —these tales th… About the breezes sighing, And moans astir o’er field and del… Because the year is dying. Such principles are most absurd, —

De trees is bendin’ in de sto’m, De rain done hid de mountain’s fo’… I ‘s ’lone an’ in distress. But listen, dah 's a voice I hyea… A—sayin’ to me, loud an’ cleah,