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We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts today

Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be now forever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind,

In the primal sympathy

Which having been, must ever be;

In the soothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,

In years that bring the philosophic mind.

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To me the meanest flower that blows can give

Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

WORDSWORTH.

LOVE AND HUMILITY.

FAR have I clambered in my mind, But nought so great as love I find: Deep-searching wit, mount-moving might,

Are nought compared to that good sprite.

Life of delight, and soul of bliss! Sure source of lasting happiness! Higher than heaven! lower than hell! What is thy tent? Where mayst thou dwell?

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My share! No deed of house or spreading lands,

As I had dreamed; no measure Heaped up with gold; my elder brother's hands

Had never held such treasure. Foxes have holes, and birds in nests are fed:

My brother had not where to lay his head.

My share! The right like him to know all pain

Which hearts are made for knowing; The right to find in loss the surest gain;

To reap my joy from sowing In bitter tears; the right with him to keep

A watch by day and night with all who weep.

My share! To-day men call it grief and death;

I see the joy and life to-morrow; I thank my Father with my every breath,

For this sweet legacy of sorrow; And through my tears I call to each "joint heir

With Christ, make haste to ask him for thy share."

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Their great Original proclaim.
The unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display;
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale,

And nightly, to the listening earth, Repeats the story of her birth; Whilst all the stars that round her burn,

And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though, in solemn silence, all Move round this dark, terrestrial ball?

What though nor real voice nor sound

Amidst their radiant orbs be found?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
Forever singing as they shine,
"The hand that made us is divine!"
ADDISON.

TWO WENT UP INTO THE TEMPLE TO PRAY.

Two went to pray? Oh! rather say One went to brag, the other to pray.

One stands up close, and treads or high,

Where the other dares not lend his eye.

One nearer to God's altar trod;
The other to the altar's God.

RICHARD CRASHAW.

A HYMN TO CHRIST,

AT THE AUTHOR'S LAST GOING INTO

GERMANY.

IN what torn ship soever I embark, That ship shall be my emblem of thy ark;

What sea soever swallow me, that

flood

Shall be to me an emblem of thy

blood.

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