O, the mind is a bird, with a choice of flight
It can fly to the top of the tree,
Singing “Love, Love, Love,” all day and all night,
Merrily, airily,
Faithfully, cheerily
Fly high, Mind!—Or wilt thou fly low?
Wilt thou go,
Draggingly, creepingly,
Slowly and feebly,
Through the mud and the mire,
Through the world's sharp desire,
And the passion of sense?
O Mind, get thee hence.
Having seen, leave the sight.
Get thee up! Get thee higher!
Rise, Mind! Try a flight!
Seek the sweet, green tops of the trees,
Where the breeze,
Gently playing,

If thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes,
First win our hearts, for there thy empire lies:
Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne,
Her Right Divine is given by Love alone.

What would the rose with all her pride be worth,
Were there no sun to call her brightness forth?
Maidens, unloved, like flowers in darkness thrown,
Wait but that light which comes from Love alone.

Fair as thy charms in yonder glass appear,
Trust not their bloom, they'll fade from year to year:
Wouldst thou they still should shine as first they shone,

Zion's the city where I dwell,
Surrounded by the hosts of hell;
But glory soon will be my home,
Where sin and hell can never come.

All then among the saints below,
Where Jesus deigns his face to show,
Let me be favour'd with a place,
Constant in all the means of grace.

Oh lovely place, where first my heart
Was taught for baneful sin to smart!
Where first my eyes were brought to see
That Jesus liv'd and dy'd for me!

Where would I dwell, and learn to sing
The grace and love of Zion's King,
Shall I ascend the heav'nly skies,

Florida, fair Florida, land of my birth,
Queen of the continent, gem of the earth.
Land where the skies are blue as the sea,
Where the bright laughing waters are flowing and free.
Land of fair sunlight,
Land of soft starlight,
Land where the moon is queen of the night,
I love thee, I love thee with passionate love.

Thou liest wrapped in the ocean's arms,
Old Neptune feasts upon thy charms,
And runs to kiss thy coral shore,
As a lover speeds to his lady's bower.
Beautiful Florida!
Lovely Florida!
Most favored spot of a favored land.

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove,
Is fair—but oh, how fair,
If Pity's hand had stolen from Love
One leaf to mingle there!

If every rose with gold were tied,
Did gems for dewdrops fall,
One faded leaf where Love had sighed
Were sweetly worth them all.

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove
Our emblem well may be;
Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love
Must keep its tears for me.

My Love I can compare with nought on earth,
And all my fear is only lest she be,
Like all we prize too much, removed from me,
'Mong amaranths to bloom of heavenly birth.
The fields of Cam bear witness of her worth;
The pleasant Lea soft murmurs in her praise;
Fair Cheshunt still rejoiceth in her mirth;
And Thamis at her feet his treasure lays!
Italia bright would claim her for its own;
But Albion, the seat of all my bliss,
Divides with it the boast, and prouder is
Of this than the chief jewel of her crown.
Happy is he who may possess this flower,

'T IS hard from love to spare the heart,
'Tis pain to feel his wounding dart,
But greater still, the loss, the pain,
To love, alas! and love in vain.
Wit, wisdom, birth, and beauty fade,
The beams of dazling gold display'd,
Curs'd be the wretch, the first who sold
His birth-right liberty, for gold,
Gold, that can murd'ring hands employ,
And brothers, fathers, sons, destroy;
Gold unresisted rules the ball,
By gold whole hosts, whole nations fall,
Yet more my sighs with grief reveal,
That love the force of gold can feel.

As of old the wildered dove,
Wandering over waters dark,
Finding neither fount nor grove,
Sought shelter in her home, the ark,

So my little one, my love,
Turns my restless heart to thee,
Weary, wheresoe'er she rove
O'er the inhospitable sea.

Time hath linked us heart to heart
With links of mutual memory,
Of gentle power if aught would part
To bind us close until we die.

If the world arise to sever,
Steals a tiny spirit-hand,
Glides to reunite us ever,
From the holy silent land.

Find the birthplace of sweet Love;

When shadows o'er the landscape creep,
And twinkling stars pale vigils keep;
When flower-cups all with dew-drops gleam,
And moonshine floweth like a stream;
Then is the hour
That hearts which love no longer dream,—
Then is the hour
That the voice of love is a spell of power!

When shamefaced moonbeams kiss the lake,
And amorous leaves sweet music wake;
When slumber steals o'er every eye,
And Dian's self shines drowsily;
Then is the hour
That hearts which love with rapture sigh,—
Then is the hour
That the voice of love is a spell of power!

In secret Yearning for thy Preservation,
Endeared Friend, I send the Salutation
Of Love unfeign'd, and heartily desire
Its pure Refining Flame may ne'er expire,
Or be extinguish'd: For 'twas said of old,
Iniquities abound, when Love grows cold.
Now, though thy silent Pen doth testifie,
There's some (yet latent) cause of Jealousie:
I'll not my Rival envy, if it be
One worthy to be entertain'd by thee,
Without Detraction from that innate Worth,
Whereto (I hope) thou art by second Birth
Entituled. But can Affairs so crow'd,