Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Low is my porch, as is my fate, And yet the threshold of my door Who hither come, and freely get Like as my parlor, so my hall, A little buttery, and therein Which keeps my little loaf of bread Some brittle sticks of thorn or brier Close by whose living coal I fit, Lord, I confess too, when I dine, And all those other bits that be There placed by Thee. The worts, the purslain, and the mess Of water-cress, Which of Thy kindness Thou haft sent: Makes those and my beloved beet To be more sweet. 'Tis Thou that crown'ft my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth, And giv'ft me waffail-bowls to drink, Lord, 't is Thy plenty-dropping hand All this, and better, doft Thou send That I fhould render for my part Which, fired with incense, I refign But the acceptance, that must be, O Lord, by Thee. Robert Herrick. 1596. "AS STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS." S ftrangers, glad for this good inn A where nobler wayfarers have been; Yet afking but a little reft: Earth may not keep her spirit-guest. As those whom no entangling bond From one plain path, the homeward way. How muft the pilgrim's load be borne? So trufting Him whose love he knows, How thinks the pilgrim of his way The valley-shades, how cool and still! Strangers to fin! beloved of God! Ye track with heaven-light earth's mean sod: For, pilgrims dear, He walks with you, A Guide but once a Pilgrim too. Lucy Larcom. OUR TITLES. A RE we not Nobles? We who trace That God for us and for our race Created earth and sky, And light and air and time and space, Are we not Princes? we who stand And answer to no less command Are we not Kings? both night and day, From early until late, About our bed, about our way, A guard of angels wait; And so we watch and work and pray In more than royal state. Are we not holy? Do not start : It is God's sacred will To call us temples set apart Our very food. . . . O hush, my heart, Are we not more? our life fhall be Immortal and divine. The nature Mary gave to thee, Dear Jesus, ftill is thine; Adoring in thy heart, I see Such blood as beats in mine. O God, that we can dare to fail, Shall we upon such titles bring Miss A. A. Procter. |