At first the river's very small,
And can't float anything at all;
But later, as it journeys on,
It's large enough to float a swan.

It grows till it can safely float
A slim canoe and then a boat;
And later still, as like as not,
It manages to float a yacht.

And presently, when really large,
It takes a steamer, then a barge.
And last it passes busy quays
And floats great ships to foreign seas.

O God , forasmuch as without Thee
We are not enabled to doubt Thee,
Help us all by Thy grace
To convince the whole race
It knows nothing whatever about Thee.

Alas, alas, eheu!
That the sky is only blue,
To gather from the grass
The rain and dew!

Alas! that eyes are fair:
That tears may gather there,
Mist and the breath of sighs
From the marsh of care!

Alas, alas, eheu!
That we meet but to bid adieu:
That the sands in Time's ancient glass
Are so swift and few!

Alas, alas, eheu!
That the heart is only true
To gather, where false feet pass,
The thorn and rue!

Of Jonathan Chapman
Two things are known,
That he loved apples,
That he walked alone.

At seventy-odd
He was gnarled as could be,
But ruddy and sound
As a good apple tree.

For fifty years over
Of harvest and dew,
He planted his apples
Where no apples grew.

The winds of the prairie
Might blow through his rags,
But he carried his seeds
In the best deerskin bags.

From old Ashtabula
To frontier Fort Wayne,
He planted and pruned
And he planted again.

He had not a hat
To encumber his head.
He wore a tin pan

Lady , not to me are given
Firmness, constancy, and power,
On the eagle's pinions driven,
Sunward from the earth to tower.

Boding cares and fears oppress me,
Viewless bonds my feelings chain;
Anxious dreams and hopes possess me,
Dreams and hopes perhaps in vain.

Mine is transient joy, that borrows
All the light it would bestow:
But my deep, though silent sorrows,
Be it never thine to know.

When the mist so drear and lonely,
Shall have vanish'd from my brow;
Lady, then, alas! then only,
Mayst thou read my feelings now.

Why doth the bottle stand, boys?
Let the glass run silent round!
Wine should go,
As the blood doth flow,
Its course, without pause or sound.
Scorn not Wine!—Truth divine
And Courage dwell with noble Wine.

Send round the bottle quick, boys!
No reason ask, nor pause!
Wine should run
Like a circling sun,
By its own unquestioned laws.
Scorn not Wine! &c.

Fill to the beaded brims, boys,
Let each glass, like a king, be crown'd!
Drink—“Joy, and Wealth,
And a mighty Health,
To Ourselves and the world around!”

The owl to her mate is calling;
The river his hoarse song sings;
But the Oak is marked for falling,
That has stood for a hundred springs.
Hark!—a blow, and a dull sound follows;
A second,—he bows his head;
A third,—and the wood's dark hollows
Now know that their king is dead.

His arms from their trunk are riven;
His body all barked and squared;
And he's now, like a felon, driven
In chains to the strong dock-yard:
He's sawn through the middle, and turned
For the ribs of a frigate free;
And he's caulked, and pitched, and burned;

The Evening Star, the lover's star,
The beautiful star comes hither!
He steereth his barque
Through the azure dark,
And brings us the bright blue weather,—Love!
The beautiful bright blue weather.

The birds lie dumb, when the night stars come,
And Silence broods o'er the covers;
But a voice now wakes
In the thorny brakes,
And singeth a song for lovers,—Love!
A sad sweet song for lovers!

It singeth a song, of grief and wrong,
A passionate song for others;
Yet its own sweet pain
Can never be vain,

In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column;
In the pentameter aye falling in melody back.

A WHITE rose, from her morning dream
Awakened by the amorous air,
Beheld her image in a stream,
And blushed to see herself so fair.

Then proudly tossed her regal head
And spread her bosom to the sky,
And, whispering to herself, she said:
“Behold how beautiful am I!”

And thus it was at day's eclipse,
A zephyr found her proud and vain;
Touched her bright petals with his lips,
And left thereon a burning stain.

The beauty felt the smart, and cried:
“Though thou hast kissed me to betray,
The dew will come at eventide