GEORGE P. MORRIS. 1802-1864. Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! And I'll protect it now. Woodman, spare that Tree. A song for our banner? The watchword recall Which gave the Republic her station : "United we stand divided we fall!" It made and preserves us a nation! The union of States none can sever Her suffering ended with the day, Yet lived she at its close, And breathed the long, long night away, In statue-like repose. A Death-Bed. But when the sun, in all his state, Illumed the eastern skies, She passed through Glory's morning gate, And walked in Paradise. Ibid. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language. Thanatopsis. Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings. Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, Ibid. So live that when thy summons comes to join By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, The stormy March has come at last, Ibid. With wind and clouds and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies. March. But 'neath yon crimson tree, Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame. Autumn Woods. The groves were God's first temples. Forest Hymn. The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. The Death of the Flowers. And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. Loveliest of lovely things are they, The rose that lives its little hour Ibid. A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson. Truth crushed to earth shall rise again : The eternal years of God are hers ; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers. The Battle-field. HENRY TAYLOR. The world knows nothing of its greatest men. Philip Van Artevelde. Parti. Act i. Sc. 5. He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend. Eternity mourns that. T is an ill cure For life's worst ills, to have no time to feel them. Where sorrow's held intrusive and turned out, There wisdom will not enter, nor true power, Nor aught that dignifies humanity. We figure to ourselves Ibid. The thing we like, and then we build it up Such souls, Whose sudden visitations daze the world, Ibid. Vanish like lightning, but they leave behind PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;1 In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. Festus. Life's but a means unto an end, that end, Beginning, mean, and end to all things - God. Ibid. Poets are all who love, who feel great truths, And tell them: and the truth of truths is love. Ibid. LYDIA MARIA CHILD. England may as well dam up the waters of the Nile with bulrushes as to fetter the step of Freedom, more proud and firm, in this youthful land, than where she treads the sequestered glens of Scotland, or couches herself among the magnificent mountains of Switzerland. Supposititious Speech of James Otis. From The 1 A life spent worthily should be measured by a nobler line, by deeds, not years. Sheridan, Pizarro, Activ. Sc. 1. |