With the glow of the sunlight on his face, To run a-tilt against the time.

All things were wrong, but all should be right Ere he went to his rest in the cool of night. This Man-he was but a man, ah me!

With the heart of gold and the hands of clay, And the high thoughts that die on the lips away:— No iron will for the strife had he,—

And yet he could not sink back and rest With the quiet souls whom the world loves best. He saw the Good flit ever before,

Like the rainbow afar on the mountains seen, While the clinging mire of the marsh-flats green Held fast his feet, though he struggled sore,

Till the night came, and, broken and lone,
Weary, to rest he laid him down.
Ah me! - and yet I had rather be
That Man, as I saw him lying
With his blue eyes dim in dying,

And the heart that once beat so high and free
Broken with trusting too much,- than they
Who call him fool, and pass on their way!
O life I knew!
O high heart true!

AMERICA.

Yours be the Spartan constancy,
The Roman might of victory,
And majesty of rule and law,—
The Saxon simple heart of awe.
And, gathering up from every age
The great and good for heritage,
Write ye aloft your country's name,
Purged from all youthful sin and blame.
-America.

GOD.

Thy children, for ever Thine own!

And though the wild whirlwinds, the lawless-seem

ing, are sweeping,

Yet the orbits appointed by Thee we know they are keeping;

We cling in the darkness, one day we shall stand by the Throne,

Thy children-Thine own.
-Suspiria.

With the heart of gold and the hands of clay, And the high thoughts that die on the lips away:— No iron will for the strife had he,

And yet he could not sink back and rest With the quiet souls whom the world loves best. He saw the Good flit ever before,

Like the rainbow afar on the mountains seen,
While the clinging mire of the marsh-flats green
Held fast his feet, though he struggled sore,
Till the night came, and, broken and lone,
Weary, to rest he laid him down.
Ah me! - and yet I had rather be
That Man, as I saw him lying
With his blue eyes dim in dying,

And the heart that once beat so high and free
Broken with trusting too much,- than they
Who call him fool, and pass on their way!
O life I knew!
O high heart true!

AMERICA.

Yours be the Spartan constancy,
The Roman might of victory,
And majesty of rule and law,—
The Saxon simple heart of awe.
And, gathering up from every age
The great and good for heritage,
Write ye aloft your country's name,
Purged from all youthful sin and blame.
-America.

GOD.

Thy children, for ever Thine own!

And though the wild whirlwinds, the lawless-seem

ing, are sweeping,

Yet the orbits appointed by Thee we know they are keeping;

We cling in the darkness, one day we shall stand by the Throne,

Thy children — Thine own.
-Suspiria.