Thou demi-god of Rome, whose fame
Down twenty centuries comes to me,
How burns my soul to be like thee
Whene'er I hear thy mighty name!

Fades Shakespeare; fade those kings of song,
Blind Homer, Milton the divine,
The Mantuan and the Florentine.
Allures no more that laureled throng.

Them I revere, but thee I love,
O Julius, this the spirit's truth,
Who, pale and dissolute in thy youth,
In manhood the strong world didst move.

Yes, thee I love, thou rulest my thought,
Great Master of both pen and sword;
Better than any written word,

They were here,
The pallid forms —
What hidden light
Which caused its throne ...

O song of the night-field,
What strain can it be?
Therein silent suffer
Not to feel so close to thee.

We were together
From sap to heaven,
The change from within
Suspired hearts given.

As the cocoanut-palm
That pines, my love,
Away from the sound
Of the planter's voice,
Am I, for I hear
No more resound
Your song by the pearl-strewn sea!
The sun may come
And the moon wax round,
And in its beam
My mates rejoice,
But I feast not
And my heart is dumb,
As I long, oh long, for thee!

In the jungle-deeps,
Where the cobra creeps,
The leopard lies
In wait for me,
But oh, my love,
When the daylight dies
There is more to my dread than he!
Harsh lonely tears

As is a mother's love,
Unchanging true and pure
And as the stars that light the night,
Unquenchable and sure —
As is a mother's love,
Tho' all the world despise,
For him who slept upon her breast,
She lives, and loves, and dies —
As is a mother's love,
In danger, pain, or woe,
A healing balm for ev'ry wound,
And shield from ev'ry foe —
As is a mother's love,
When lost her erring child,
To seek him out in stormy days,
And midnights dark and wild —
As is a mother's love,
Of all earth-gifts the best,

A SUMMER EVENING .

I T is not only while we look upon
A lovely landscape, that its beauties please;
In distant days, when we afar are gone
From such, in fancy's idle reveries,
Or moods of mind which memory loves to seize,
It comes in living beauty, fresh as when
We first beheld it: valley, hill, or trees
O'ershadowing unseen brooks; or outstretch'd fen
With cattle sprinkled o'er, exist, and charm again.

Father, let thy hand e'er lead us,
Be thou near us day by day,
With the bread of heaven feed us,
As on earth we wend our way
Gentle Jesus, how we love thee,
Meek and lowly as thou art,
None in heav'n or earth above thee!
Now to us thy love impart.
Holy Spirit, now descending,
Rest upon our hearts tonight;
Sacred Trio, never ending,
Turn our darkness into light.

Saviour, breathe a tender blessing,
Father, hear us in our plea,
Saviour, Saviour, Father, Father,
All our sins we are confessing,
As in prayer we come to thee.

There is a power you know not of,
Except you know as I have known
How one can give his all to love
And find his all in love alone.

Beaucoup d'amour

In spite of Wisdom's voice,
I would have heaps of gold;
And quickly at my mistress' feet
My treasures should be told.
Oh! never, Adele, would I cease
To satisfy thy least caprice:
Nay, nay, mine is not avarice —
But much, much love.

To immortalize Adele,
Were I with song inspired,
My verse, that ever painted her,
Should ever be admired
Ah, would that our united name

Singing for Jesus, our Saviour and King,
Singing for Jesus, the Lord whom we love;
All adoration we joyously bring,
Longing to praise as we'll praise him above.
Singing for Jesus,
Oh, singing for joy . . . . .
Thus will we praise . . . . him, and tell out his love . . . . .
Till he shall call us ... to brighter employ . . . .
Singing for Jesus forever, above.
Singing for Jesus, and trying to win
Many to love him, and join in the song;
Calling the weary and wandering in,
Rolling the chorus of gladness along

Love took me up, a naked, helpless child,
Love laid me sleeping on the tender breast,
Love gazed on me with saintly eyes and mild,
Love watched me as I lay in happy rest,
Love was my childhood's stay, my chiefest good,
My daily friend, my solace, and my food.

But when to Love's own stature I was come,
Treading the paths where fabled Loves abound,
Hard by the Cytherean's magic home,
Loveless I paced alone the enchanted ground
Some phantoms pale I marked, which fled away,
And lo, my youth was gone; my hair turned gray.