Works

This world is but the shadow
Of the world that is to be,
A ripple on the surface
Of a deep, unfathomed sea.
God's plans are always perfect,
But long ages intervene
From the planning of the temple...

'Tis well to have a goal in mind,
A life-aim, high and true;
Clear as the day, and well defined,
And ever kept in view.
But God has strewn along the way
Bright flowers of every hue....

Every tear that dims the eye,
Or bedews the careworn cheek,
Will our God, who reigns on high,
With a hand so kind and meek,
Wipe away, nor leave a trace
Of its stain on eye or face.
...

Beneath the surface of a shallow lake,
Where grasses rank and mammoth rushes grow,
And playful fish their bright fins nimbly shake,
Or madly chase each other to and fro,...

Those men are deemed heroes who rush on the foe
Regardless of danger, and seek not to know
What others may do;
Stern duty demands it--why should they falter
If all they hold dear is laid on the altar,...

When the French soldier from the field returned,
Begrimed with smoke and blood, he felt content,
As from Napoleon he this fact had learned,
That thro' his marshall, medals would be sent,...

Some men there are who stand so straight,
So equipoised, that others' fate
Seems to depend on their behest;
And useless all our every quest
To gain perfection or renown,
Unless we touch the flowing gown...

Brave soul, 'twere well if all the same would say,
And artists aim their patron's wish t'obey.
What signifies a wart, or e'en a scar?
Leave both, skilled hand, and paint us as we are....

An artist skilled beyond the sons of men
With pleasure scanned the pictures on the wall,
Rare works of art, each one pronounced a gem,
The product of his hand, both great and small;...

The end we sought is not attained,
But wisdom has been won,
And thus a higher goal is gained.
That like the moon has sadly waned,
While this shines as the sun.

A shorter route to India's strand...

Feathery frost on the window-pane,
Who placed you there? "I cannot explain,"
Each little feather at once replied;
"But this I know, I'm the children's pride,
As they think I fell from an angel's wing,...

Perfection ever is the price of toil.
Of marchings long, and hardships by the way,
Of burdens borne, oft in the heat of day,
'Tis then as right the victor claims the spoil.
...

This lovely lily, so pure and white,
Seems covered o'er with celestial light;
As if it grew on the "Tree of Life,"
And not down here, in this world of strife;
Too pure for earth it now seems to be;...

The words we speak on the empty air,
Are never lost, but recorded there;
The process we may not comprehend,
Nor how the words with the air may blend,
But science shows what results may be;...

O harass not a driven leaf,
Nor stubble dry in wrath pursue;
A life so brief load not with grief,
Nor with thine arrow pierce me through.

The fragile leaf, by tempest tost,...