Gold is the chiefest labour of the sunne:
Gemmes are his artifice: His beames intrude
Upon the darke Abysse, and Mansion
Of the blind subterraneous multitude,
Whereby his pow'r is shew'd.
But true Conversion doth transcend the starres,
Where it creates such joyes, that Gemmes, and Gold
Compar'd with these, are vitiated wares,
Thus Pious Soules more vertues doe infold,
Then this great light doth hold:
And him in force excell,
As farre as Heaven doth Hell.

The brook sings on the selfsame strain
But finds no echo in my brain

And he like me is not too proud
To be the poet of the crowd

Nature says,
These craggy hills that front the dawn
Man-bearing granite of the North
Shall fiercer forms & races spawn
Charged with my genius forth

Amid the trials which I meet,
Amid the thorns that pierce my feet,
One thought remains supremely sweet,
Thou thinkest, Lord, of me!
The cares of life come thronging fast,
Upon my soul their shadow cast;
Their gloom reminds my heart at last,
Thou thinkest, Lord, of me!
Let shadows come, let shadows go,
Let life be bright, or dark with woe,
I am content, for this I know,
Thou thinkest, Lord, of me!

Thou thinkest, Lord, of me (of me),
Thou thinkest, Lord, of me (of me);
What need I fear since thou art near,
And thinkest, Lord, of me.

SOFTLY !
She is lying
With her lips apart;

Softly!
She is dying
Of a broken heart.

Whisper!
Life is growing
Dim within her breast;
Whisper!
She is going
To her final rest.

Gently!
She is sleeping,
She has breathed her last!
Gently!
While you 're weeping
She to heaven has passed.

Wend , love, with me, to the deep woods wend,
Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep,
Where no watching eye shall over us bend,
Save the blossoms that into thy bower may peep.
Thou shalt gather from buds of the oriole's hue,
Whose flaming wings round our pathway flit,
From the saffron orchis and lupin blue,
And those like the foam on my courser's bit.

One steed and one saddle us both shall bear,
One hand of each on the bridle meet;
And beneath the wrist that entwines me there,
An answering pulse from my heart shall beat.

Not the rush and the tread
Of crowds in the city street,
But dusk in the still trees overhead
And the soft ferns under feet.

Not the roar of the throng
Where the shining windows gleam,
But a hermit-thrush in his evensong,
And a murmuring valley stream.

Not the dust and the cry
Of the hot streets walled with stone,
But white hill-mists, and the quiet sky
Where the wide, bright stars are strown!

Sensibility how charming,
Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell;
But distress with horrors arming,
Thou hast also known too well.—

Fairest flower, behold the lily,
Blooming in the sunny ray.
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley,
See it prostrate on the clay.—

Hear the woodlark charm the forest,
Telling o'er his little joys:
Hapless bird! a prey the surest
To each pirate of the skies.—

Dearly bought the hidden treasure,
Finer Feelings can bestow:
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure,
Thrill the deepest notes of woe.—

O raging Fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low! O
O raging Fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low! O
My stem was fair my bud was green
My blossom sweet did blow; O
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild,
And made my branches grow; O
But luckless Fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O
But luckless Fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O.