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So sang a little clod of clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a pebble of the brook

Warbled out these metres meet :

< Love seeketh only Self to please, To bind another to Its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease,

And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.'

HOLY THURSDAY

Is this a holy thing to see

In a rich and fruitful land—

Babes reduced to misery,

Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song ?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty !-

And their sun does never shine,

And their fields are bleak and bare,
And their ways are filled with thorns:
It is eternal winter there.

For where'er the sun does shine,"
And where'er the rain does fall,

Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.

THE LITTLE GIRL LOST

In futurity

I prophetic see

That the earth from sleep
(Grave the sentence deep)

Shall arise, and seek
For her Maker meek;
And the desert wild
Become a garden mild.

In the southern clime, Where the summer's prime Never fades away,

Lovely Lyca lay.

Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca told.

She had wandered long,
Hearing wild birds' song.

'Sweet sleep, come to me
Underneath this tree;
Do father, mother, weep?
Where can Lyca sleep?

'Lost in desert wild
Is your little child.
How can Lyca sleep
If her mother weep?

"If her heart does ache,
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mother sleep,
Lyca shall not weep.

'Frowning, frowning night, O'er this desert bright

Let thy moon arise,

While I close my eyes.'

Sleeping Lyca lay

While the beasts of prey,
Come from caverns deep,
Viewed the maid asleep.

VOL. 1.

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ALL the night in woe

Lyca's parents go
Over valleys deep,

While the deserts weep.

Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan,

Arm in arm, seven days

They traced the desert ways.

Seven nights they sleep

Among shadows deep,

And dream they see their child
Starved in desert wild.

Pale through pathless ways
The fancied image strays,
Famished, weeping, weak,
With hollow, piteous shriek.

F

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To this day they dwell

In a lonely dell,

Nor fear the wolvish howl
Nor the lion's growl.

THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER

A LITTLE black thing among the snow,
Crying weep! 'weep!' in notes of woe!
"Where are thy father and mother? Say!'—
"They are both gone up to the church to pray.
'Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smiled among the winter's snow,
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

'And because I am happy and dance and sing,

They think they have done me no injury,

And are gone to praise God and his priest and king, Who make up a heaven of our misery.'

NURSE'S SONG

WHEN the voices of children are heard on the

And whisperings are in the dale,

The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,

My face turns green and pale.

green,

Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,

And the dews of night arise;

Your spring and your day are wasted in play,

And your winter and night in disguise.

THE SICK ROSE

O ROSE, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

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