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And strives to do its bidding.
It serves thee well and tenderly.
What else it is, thou canst not know.

And what is Death?
Ah, child of mine, seek far and well

Before you turn from me.

A dream is but a rose's breath so pure and free; And so is Death. 'Tis but a dream,

A sleep - a tender kiss;
A pillow for thy care and tear;

It is not, then, amiss.

And what is Life?
And what is Love?
And what is Death?

Seek, child, no more, nor worry with thy queries,

For Life is Love; and Love is Death,

And Death is peace and sweet, Sweet rest for one who wearies.

DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER On the death of General Philip Kearney at Chantilly, Va.


Close his eyes; his work is done!

What to him is friend or foeman,
Rise of moon or set of sun,
Hand of man or kiss of woman?

Lay him low, lay him low,
In the clover or the snow!
What cares he? he cannot know;

Lay him low!

As man may, he fought his fight,

Proved his truth by his endeavor;
Let him sleep in solemn night,
Sleep forever and forever.

Lay him low, lay him low,
In the clover or the snow!
What cares he? he cannot know;

Lay him low!

Fold him in his country's stars,

Roll the drum and fire the volley!
What to him are all our wars?
What but death-bemocking folly?

Lay him low, lay him low,
In the clover or the snow!
What cares he? he cannot know;

Lay him low!

Leave him to God's watching eye;

Trust him to the hand that made him.
Mortal love weeps idly by;
God alone has power to aid him.

Lay him low, lay him' low,
In the clover or the snow!
What care he? he cannot know;
Lay him low!



The night has a thousand eyes,

And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies,

With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,

And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies,

When love is done.



O little town of Bethlehem,

How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark street shineth

The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years

Are met in thee to-night.

For Christ is born of Mary,

And, gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep

Their watch of wondering love;
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth,

And praises sing to God the King,

And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,

The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts

The blessings of His heaven;
No ear may hear His coming,

But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him, still

The dear Christ enters in.

O Holy Child of Bethlehem,

Decend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in;

Be born in us to-day;
We hear the Christmas angels

The great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,

Our Lord Immanuel.



Her hair was tawny with gold, her eyes with purple

were dark, Her cheeks' pale opal burnt with a red and restless


Never was lady of Mílan nobler in name and in race; Never was lady of Italy fairer to see in the face.

Never was lady on earth more true as woman and

wife, Larger in judgment and instinct, prouder in manners

and life.

She stood in the early morning, and said to her maidens,

“ Bring

That silken robe made ready to wear at the court of

the king.

"Bring me the clasps of diamond, lucid, clear of the

mote, Clasp me the large at the waist, and clasp me the

small at the throat.

“Diamonds to fasten the hair, and diamonds to fasten

the sleeves, Laces to drop from their rays, like a powder of snow

from the eaves.

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Gorgeous she entered the sunlight which gathered

her up in a flame, While straight, in her open carriage, she to the hospi

tal came.

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In she went at the door, and gazing, from end to end, Many and low are the pallets, but each is the place

of a friend.

Up she passed through the wards, and stood at a young man's bed:

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