Saw two nostrils point to windward; And his heart within him fluttered, But the wary roebuck started, Like a wasp it buzzed, and stung him. Dead he lay there in the forest, Throbbed and shouted and exulted ween crumbling dain'ty mōuld'ēr ing LXXVIII. THE IVY GREEN. Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. The walls must be crumbled, the stones de cayed, To pleasure his dainty whim; And the mouldering dust that made Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, years have A rare old plant is the ivy green. Whole ages have fled and their works decayed, And nations scattered been; But the stout old ivy shall never fade The brave old plant in its lonely days For the stateliest building man can raise LXXIX.-WORDS OF PURE GOLD. PSALM XXIII. The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; Thou anointest my head with oil: my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: And I will dwell in the house of the Lord |