His soul extracted from the public sink,
For discord born he splasht around his ink;
In scandal foremost, as by scandal fed,
He hourly rakes the ashes of the dead.

Secure from him no traveller walks the streets,
His malice sees a foe in all he meets;...

  in a branch of willow hid
Sings the evening Caty-did:
From the lofty-locust bough
Feeding on a drop of dew,
In her suit of green arrayed
Hear her singing in the shade—
  Caty-did, Caty-did, Caty-did!

  While upon a leaf you tread,...

Thou, born to sip the lake or spring,
  Or quaff the waters of the stream,
Why hither come, on vagrant wing?
  Does Bacchus tempting seem,—
    Did he for you this glass prepare?
    Will I admit you to a share?

Did storms harass or foes perplex...

The grandeur of this earthly round,
  Where Theon would forever be,
Is but a name, is but a sound—
  Mere emptiness and vanity.

Give me the stars, give me the skies,
  Give me the heaven’s remotest sphere,
Above these gloomy scenes to rise...

’t is of a gallant Yankee ship that flew the stripes and stars,
And the whistling wind from the west-nor’-west blew through the pitch-pine spars;
With her starboard tacks aboard, my boys, she hung upon the gale;
On an autumn night we raised the light on the old Head of...

Poet: Anonymous

There smiled the smooth Divine, unused to wound
The sinner’s heart with hell’s alarming sound.
No terrors on his gentle tongue attend;
No grating truths the nicest ear offend.
That strange new-birth, that methodistic grace,
Nor in his heart nor sermons...

I love thy kingdom, Lord,
  The house of thine abode,
The church our blest Redeemer saved
  With his own precious blood.

I love thy church, O God!
  Her walls before thee stand,
Dear as the apple of thine eye,
  And graven on thy hand....

Days of my youth,
    Ye have glided away;
Hairs of my youth,
    Ye are frosted and gray;
Eyes of my youth,
    Your keen sight is no more;
Cheeks of my youth,
    Ye are furrowed all o’er;
Strength of my youth,
    All...

Poet: St

I
when darby saw the setting sun,
He swung his scythe, and home he run,
Sat down, drank off his quart, and said,
“My work is done, I ’ll go to bed.”
“My work is done!” retorted Joan,
“My work is done! your constant tone;
But hapless woman ne...

Poet: St

The osprey sails above the sound,
  The geese are gone, the gulls are flying;
The herring shoals swarm thick around,
  The nets are launched, the boats are plying;
    Yo ho, my hearts! let ’s seek the deep,
      Raise high the song, and cheerily wish her...