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THE YOUTH WHO PLAYED BEFORE HE LOOKED.
A youth went forth to serenade
The lady whom he loved the best,
Where first his charmer used to rest.
He warbled till the morning light
Came dancing o'er the hilltops' rim;
And all seemed dark and drear to him.
With heart aglow and eyes ablaze
He drew much nearer than before,
THE TWO VILLAGES.
ROSE TERRY COOKE.
Over the river on the hill,
low and sweet, Grow in the middle of every street.
Over the river under the hill,
In that village on the hill,
THE TWO VILLAGES.
All the village lies asleep,
In the village under the hill,
He meets, by heavenly chance express,
His destined wife; some hidden hand Unvails to him that loveliness
Which others cannot understand. No songs of love, no summer dreams
Did 'e'er his longing fancy fire With vision like to this; she seems
In all things better than desire. His merits in her presence grow,
To match the promise in her eyes, And round her happy footsteps blow
The authentic airs of Paradise. The least is well, yet nothing's light
In all the lover does; for he Who pitches hope at such a height
Will do all things with dignity. She is so perfect, true, and pure,
Her virtue all virtue so endears, That often, when he thinks of her,
Life's meanness fills his eyes with tears.
God speaks to hearts of men in many ways:
Some the red banner of the rising sun, Spread o'er the snow-clad hills, has taught his praise;
Some the sweet silence when the day is done;
Some, after loveless lives, at length have won ilis word in children's hearts and children's gaze.
And some have found him where low rafters ring
To greet the hand that helps, the heart that cheers; And some in prayer and some in perfecting
Of watchful toil through unrewarding years.
And some not less are his, who vainly sought