If I have wandered in those paths Of life I ought to shun, As something, loudly, in my breast, Thou know'st that Thou hast formèd me Where human weakness has come short, Do Thou, All-Good!-for such Thou art,- Where with intention I have erred, No other plea I have, But, Thou art good; and Goodness still Delighteth to forgive. Robert Burns [1759-1796] SONG OF THE SILENT LAND INTO the Silent Land! * Ah! who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, oh, thither, Into the Silent Land? Into the Silent Land! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band! Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms * For the original of this poem see page 3582. O Land! O Land! June For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald by our fate allotted, Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand To the land of the great Departed, After von Salis-Seewis, by 3243 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] JUNE I GAZED upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, 'Twere pleasant that, in flowery June, A cell within the frozen mould, A coffin borne through sleet, And icy clods above it rolled, While fierce the tempests beat Away! I will not think of these- And be the damp mould gently pressed Into my narrow place of rest. There through the long, long summer hours, The golden light should lie, And thick young herbs and groups of flowers Stand in their beauty by. The oriole should build and tell His love-tale close beside my cell; The idle butterfly Should rest him there, and there be heard The housewife bee and humming-bird. And what if cheerful shouts at noon I would the lovely scene around I know that I no more should see Nor would its brightness shine for me, But if, around my place of sleep, The friends I love should come to weep, Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom These to their softened hearts should bear Whose part, in all the pomp that fills Is that his grave is green; And deeply would their hearts rejoice To hear again his living voice. William Cullen Bryant [1794-1878] LOVE, TIME AND DEATH Ан me, dread friends of mine,-Love, Time, and Death: And all her golden ringlets clustering: And Time, who gathers in the flying years, He gave me all, but where is all he gave? He took my love and left me barren tears; A Wish There Death will end this vision half-divine. 3245 Oh, gently lead me through thy narrow door, Frederick Locker-Lampson [1821-1895] A WISH I ASK not that my bed of death I ask not each kind soul to keep Tearless, when of my death he hears. Let those who will, if any, weep! There are worse plagues on earth than tears. I ask but that my death may find The freedom to my life denied; Ask but the folly of mankind Then, then at last, to quit my side. Spare me the whispering, crowded room, The ceremonious air of gloom All, which makes death a hideous show! Nor bring, to see me cease to live, Nor fetch, to take the accustomed toll, His brother-doctor of the soul, To canvass with official breath The future and its viewless things— That undiscovered mystery Which one who feels death's winnowing wings Bring none of these; but let me be, The wide aërial landscape spread— Which never was the friend of one, Nor promised love it could not give, There let me gaze, till I become In soul, with what I gaze on, wed! To have before my mind-instead Not human combatings with death! Thus feeling, gazing, might I grow Composed, refreshed, ennobled, clear; Then willing let my spirit go To work or wait elsewhere or here! Matthew Arnold [1822-1888] NEXT OF KIN THE shadows gather round me, while you are in the sun: My day is almost ended, but yours is just begun: The winds are singing to us both and the streams are sing ing still, And they fill your heart with music, but mine they cannot fill. |