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THE ANCIENT MARINER.
Farewell, farewell! but this I tel!
He prayeth best who loveth best
The mariner, whose eye is bright,
He went like one that hath been stunned
A sadder and a wiser man
Nor oft has peopled Earth sent up
So deep and wide a groan before,
For well the startled sense divined
Than aught that now remained behind.
Acd to teach, by his
and reverence to all things that God made and loveth.
The scathed and haggard face of will,
And look so strong with weaponed thought,
The All between themselves and naught;
And so they stood aghast and pale,
For he, while all men trembling peered
And when his voice could rule no more,
The wearied master of the spell.
A myriad hands like shadows weak,
Or stiff and sharp as bestial claws,
That bore his country's life and laws;
And quailed beneath the living grasp
Nor pleasure's cup can madly clasp.
France did not reck how fierce a storm
When death sank heavily on him;
Of toiling smoke and blasting flame,
Were summed for him as guilt and shame
The wondrous life that flowed so long,
It rolled with mighty breadth and sound
And left a barren waste of sand.
To them at first the world appeared
Aground, and lying shipwrecked there, And freedom's folded flag no more
With dazzling sun-burst filled the air; But 't is in after years for men
A sadder and a greater thing, To muse upon the inward heart
Of him who lived the People's King.
O wasted strength! O light and calm
Poured down by too benignant Heaven.
Or lost in aimless thunder-peals;
The mountain hears the torrent dash,
Those eyes that joyous drink the sun:
Yet wherefore mourn ? The law
And noblest gifts, if basely used,
The lamp, that, 'mid the sacred cell,
On heavenly forms its glory sheds,
A poisonous vapor glimmering spreads It shines and flares, and reeling ghosts
Enormous through the twilight swell, Till o'er the withered world and heart
Rings loud and slow the dooming knell.
No more I hear a nation's shout
Around the hero's tread prevailing,
A nation's fierce, bewildered wailing; I stand amid the silent night,
And think of man and all his woe
THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.
THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.-James Montgomery
"Ye have done it unto me."- MATT. XXV. 40.
A POOR wayfaring man of grief
That I could never answer, “ Nay:”
Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
I spied him where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock; his strength was gone; The heedless water mocked his thirst;
He heard it, saw it hurrying on:
I ran to raise the sufferer up;
Thrice from the stream he drained my cup,
I drank, and never thirsted more.
'Twas night; the floods were out; it blev
I heard his voice abroad, and flew