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And doth his inner self conceal

From all men in his own despite, Hiding what he would fain reveal, And a most innocent hypocrite.

LEWIS MORRIS.

GENIAL moment oft has given
What years of toil and pain,
Of long industrious toil, have striven
To win, and all in vain.

Yet count not, when thine end is won,
That labour merely lost;

Nor say it had been wiser done
To spare the painful cost.

When heaped upon the altar lie

All things to feed the fire-
One spark alighting from on high-
The flames at once aspire;

But those sweet gums and fragrant woods,

Its rich materials rare,

By tedious quest o'er lands and floods

Had first been gathered there.

RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH.

THE TOYS..

Y little Son, who look'd from thoughtful eyes,
And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up

wise,

Having my law the seventh time disobey'd,

I struck him, and dismiss'd

With hard words and unkiss'd,

His Mother, who was patient, being dead.

Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep,
I visited his bed,

But found him slumbering deep,

With darken'd eyelids, and their lashes yet

From his late sobbing wet.

And I, with moan,

Kissing away his tears, left others of my own;

For, on a table drawn beside his head,

He had put, within his reach,

A box of counters and a red-vein'd stone,

A piece of glass abraded by the beach,

And six or seven shells,

A bottle with bluebells

And two French copper coins, ranged there with

careful art,

To comfort his sad heart.

So when that night I pray'd

To God, I wept, and said:

Ah, when at last we die with trancèd breath,

Not vexing Thee in death,

And Thou rememberest of what toys

We made our joys,

How weakly understood,

Thy great commanded good,

Then, fatherly not less

Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay,

Thou'lt leave Thy wrath, and say,

"I will be sorry for their childishness."

COVENTRY PATMORE.

LOSS AND GAIN.

YRIAD Roses, unregretted, perish in their

vernal bloom,

That the essence of their sweetness once

your beauty may perfume.

Myriad Veins of richest life-blood empty for their priceless worth,

To exalt one Will imperial over spacious realms of earth.

Myriad Hearts are pained and broken that one Poet may be taught

To discern the shapes of passion and describe them as he ought.

Myriad Minds of heavenly temper pass as passes moon or star,

That one philosophic Spirit may ascend the solar car.

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