Part 11 (1/2)
Of every quality and grade And size they may be found,-- Quite often beautifully made, As often poorly bound.
Now, as for me, had I my choice, I'd choose no folio tall, But some octavo to rejoice My sight and heart withal,--
As plump and pudgy as a snipe; Well worth her weight in gold; Of honest, clean, conspicuous type, And _just_ the size to hold!
With such a volume for my wife How should I keep and con!
How like a dream should run my life Unto its colophon!
Her frontispiece should be more fair Than any colored plate; Blooming with health, she would not care To extra-ill.u.s.trate.
And in her pages there should be A wealth of prose and verse, With now and then a _jeu d'esprit_,-- But nothing ever worse!
Prose for me when I wished for prose, Verse when to verse inclined,-- Forever bringing sweet repose To body, heart, and mind.
Oh, I should bind this priceless prize In bindings full and fine, And keep her where no human eyes Should see her charms, but mine!
With such a fair unique as this What happiness abounds!
Who--who could paint my rapturous bliss, My joy unknown to Lowndes!
CHRISTMAS HYMN
Sing, Christmas bells!
Say to the earth this is the morn Whereon our Saviour-King is born; Sing to all men,--the bond, the free, The rich, the poor, the high, the low, The little child that sports in glee, The aged folk that tottering go,-- Proclaim the morn That Christ is born, That saveth them and saveth me!
Sing, angel host!
Sing of the star that G.o.d has placed Above the manger in the east; Sing of the glories of the night, The virgin's sweet humility, The Babe with kingly robes bedight, Sing to all men where'er they be This Christmas morn; For Christ is born, That saveth them and saveth me!
Sing, sons of earth!
O ransomed seed of Adam, sing!
G.o.d liveth, and we have a king!
The curse is gone, the bond are free,-- By Bethlehem's star that brightly beamed, By all the heavenly signs that be, We know that Israel is redeemed; That on this morn The Christ is born That saveth you and saveth me!
Sing, O my heart!
Sing thou in rapture this dear morn Whereon the blessed Prince is born!
And as thy songs shall be of love, So let my deeds be charity,-- By the dear Lord that reigns above, By Him that died upon the tree, By this fair morn Whereon is born The Christ that saveth all and me!
j.a.pANESE LULLABY
Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,-- Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes; Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging-- Swinging the nest where her little one lies.
Away out yonder I see a star,-- Silvery star with a tinkling song; To the soft dew falling I hear it calling-- Calling and tinkling the night along.