Part 7 (1/2)

The gra.s.shopper, gnat, and fly, Serve for our minstrelsy; Grace said, we dance a while And so the time beguile: And if the moon doth hide her head, The glowworm lights us home to bed.

On tops of dewy gra.s.s So nimbly do we pa.s.s, The young and tender stalk Ne'er bends when we do walk; Yet in the morning may be seen Where we the night before have been.

--UNKNOWN.

RING OUT, WILD BELLS

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be.

--ALFRED LORD TENNYSON.

SONG OF SPRING

The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh, Leaping upon the mountains, Skipping upon the hills.

My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: Behold, he standeth behind our wall, He looketh forth at the windows, Showing himself through the lattice.

My beloved spake and said unto me: Rise up, my love, my fair one, And come away.

For, lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, And the vines with the tender grape Give a good smell.

Arise, my love, my fair one, And come away.

--KING SOLOMON.

FOURTH YEAR

PIPPA'S SONG

The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn: G.o.d's in his heaven-- All's right with the world!

--ROBERT BROWNING.

A SEA DIRGE

Full fathom five thy father lies: Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange.

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Hark! now I hear them,-- Ding, dong, bell.

--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

HARK! HARK! THE LARK

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With everything that pretty bin, My lady sweet, arise; Arise, arise!

--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

WINTER