Because my home is near. Why come they not? come They do not My breaking heart to meet! Oh, yes, they come!-they never fail My poor heart brightens when it meets The sunshine of their eyes. Again they come to meet me,- God! Wilt thou the thought forgive? If 'twere not for my dog and cat, I think I could not live. This heart is like a churchyard stone; Are all the friends I have; And yet my house is filled with friends, But foes they seem, and are. What makes them hostile? IGNO RANCE; Then let me not despair. My heart grows faint when home I But oh! I sigh when home I come, come, May God the thought forgive! If 'twere not for my dog and cat, I'd rather be a happy bird, Than, scorned and loathed, a king; But man should live while for him lives The meanest loving thing. Thou busy bee! how canst thou choose So far and wide to roam? O blessed bee! thy glad wings say Thou hast a happy home! But I, when I come home,- O God! Wilt thou the thought forgive? If 'twere not for my dog and cat, I think I could not live. May God the thought forgive! If 'twere not for my dog and cat, I think I could not live. Not from a vain or shallow thought Never from lips of cunning, fell Wrought in a sad sincerity; Be just at home; then write your scroll Himself from God he could not free; Of honor o'er the sea, And bid the broad Atlantic roll A ferry of the free. And, henceforth, there shall be no chain, Save underneath the sea He builded better than he knew; Knowest thou what wove yon wood- Of leaves, and feathers from her breast? The wires shall murmur through the Or how the fish outbuilt her shell, main Sweet songs of Liberty. The conscious stars accord above, And under, through the cable wove, Painting with morn each annual cell? spires. The word unto the prophet spoken THE RHODORA. IN May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook. The purple petals, fallen in the pool, Made the black water with their beauty gay; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, oh, rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew: But in my simple ignorance, suppose The selfsame power that brought me there, brought you. THE HUMBLE-BEE. Insect lover of the sun, Wait, I prithee, till I come When the south-wind, in May days, |