I

REMEMBER, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups-
Those flowers, made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember

The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky :

It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm farther off from Heaven

Than when I was a boy.

THOMAS HOOD

LONG BARREN

HOU didst hang upon a barren tree,

THOU

My God, for me:

Though I till now be barren, now at length,
Lord, give me strength,

To bring forth fruit to Thee.

Thou didst bear for me the crown of thorn,
Spitting and scorn:

Though I till now have put forth thorns, yet now
Strengthen me, Thou,

That better fruit be borne.

Thou Rose of Sharon, Cedar of broad roots,
Vine of sweet fruits,

Thou Lily of the Vale with fadeless leaf,
Of thousands chief,

Feed thou my feeble shoots.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

Now

MAY MORNING

OW the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with
her

The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire
Mirth and youth and warm desire!
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

MILTON

Ο

Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow,

the dove,

The linnet and thrush say, “I love, and I love!"
In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong;
What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm
weather,

And singing and loving--all come back together.
The lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he,
"I love my Love and my Love loves me".

S. T. COLERIDGE

MAN'S MEDLEY

HARK how the birds do sing

And woods do ring:

All creatures have their joy, and man hath his.
Yet if we rightly measure,

Man's joy and pleasure

Rather hereafter than in present is.

Not that he may not here

Taste of the cheer,

But, as birds drink, and straight lift up their head, So must he sip and think

Of better drink

He may attain to after he is dead.

Yet even the greatest griefs
May be reliefs,

Could he but take them right and in their ways.
Happy is he whose heart

Hath found the art

To turn his double pains to double praise.

GEORGE HERBERT