UPON HER PROTESTATION OF KIND AFFECTION, HAVING TRIED HIS SINCERE FIDELITY .

I.

Lady, you are with beauties so enriched
Of body and of mind,
As I can hardly find,
Which of them all hath most my heart bewitched.

II.

Whether your skin so white, so smooth, so tender,
Or face well formed and fair,
Or heart-ensnaring hair,
Or dainty hand, or leg and foot so slender.

III.

Or whether your sharp wit and lively spirit,
Where pride can find no place:
Or your enchanting grace,

Labor and love! there are no other laws
— To rule the liberal action of that soul
— Which fate hath set beneath thy brief control,
Or lull the empty fear that racks and gnaws;
Labor! then like a rising moon, the cause
— Of life shall light thine hour from pole to pole,
— Thou shalt taste health of purpose, and the roll
Of simple joys unwind without a pause.
Love! and thy heart shall cease to question why
— Its beating pulse was set to rock and rave;
— Find but another heart this side the grave

Jesus, thou Joy of loving hearts,
Thou Font of life, thou Light of men,
From the best bliss that earth imparts
We turned unfilled to thee again.

Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood;
Thou savest those that on thee call;
To them that seek thee thou art good,
To them that find thee All in all.

We taste thee, O thou living Bread,
And long to feast upon thee still;
We drink of thee, the Fountainhead,
And thirst our souls from thee to fill.

Our restless spirits yearn for thee,
Where e'er our changeful lot is cast;

Jesus loves me! this I know,
For the Bible tells me so;
Little ones to him belong,
They are weak but he is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me,
Yes, Jesus loves me,
Yes, Jesus loves me,
The Bible tells me so.

Jesus loves me! he who died,
Heaven's gate to open wide;
He will wash away my sin,
Let his little child come in.
Chorus

Jesus loves me! loves me still,
Though I'm very weak and ill;
From his shining trhone on high,
Comes to watch me where I lie.
Chorus

Jesus loves me! he will stay,

Jane , she could not:
Fay, she could.
Mary would not,
Kitty would.

My curse on Mary,
Tears for Jane.
Kitty I'll love
And love again.

Yet in the end
I'll marry Fay.
Forgive it, Kitty,
'Tis man's way.

It was the fruit on high,
From whence the chosen seed
Has found its moorless love
Therein, the human creed.

O soul of fatal refrain! —
Like the corn, flowers a cover
Over its skin, doth feign
From a mood; there love can hover.

Ah! by the shore of moss
And through the thrown-up rocks
There whispers the toneful moon;
The mingling serenade looks.

It was the autumn of the year;
The strawberry-leaves were red and sere;
October's airs were fresh and chill,
When, pausing on the windy hill,
The hill that overlooks the sea,
You talked confidingly to me, —
Me whom your keen, artistic sight
Has not yet learned to read aright,
Since I have veiled my heart from you,
And loved you better than you knew.

You told me of your toilsome past;
The tardy honors won at last,
The trials borne, the conquests gained,
The longed-for boon of Fame attained;
I knew that every victory

It was pleasant and delightful on one midsummer's morn,
When the green fields and meadows they were covered in corn,
And the blackbirds and thrushes sang in every green tree,
And the larks they sang melodious at the dawning of the day.

As the sailor and his true love they walked out one day,
Said the sailor to his true love, "I am bound far away,
I am bound for the East Indies where the loud cannon roar,
And I'm going to leave my Nancy, she's the girl that I adore.'

Three heavy sighs she gave and said, "Jimmy my dear,

It was a still autumnal day —
So sadly still and strangely bright —
The hectic glow of quick decay
Tinged everything with lovely light.

It warmly touched the fragrant air
And fields of corn and crumbling vines
Along the golden Yadkin, where
We walked among the whispering pines

Alas, that tender hectic glow
Shone in her gentle, pallid face,
And none save God in heaven could know
My agony to see its trace —
To watch those fatal roses bloom
Upon her cheeks — red, cruel signs —
But all of love, not of the tomb,

It singeth low in every heart,
We hear it each and all,--
A song of those who answer not,
However we may call;
They throng the silence of the breast,
We see them as of yore,--
The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet,
Who walk with us no more.

'Tis hard to take the burden up,
When these have laid it down;
They brightened all the joy of life,
They softened every frown;
But oh, 'tis good to think of them,
When we are troubled sore!
Thanks be to God that such have been,
Although they are no more!