Laus Deo
It is done! Clang of bell and roar of gun Send the tidings up and down. How the belfries rock and reel! How the great guns, peal on peal, Fling the joy from town
The Pumpkin
Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, With broad leaves all
Skipper Ireson's Ride
Of all the rides since the birth of time, Told in story or sung in rhyme, – On Apuleius’ Golden Ass, Or one-eyed Calendar’s horse of brass, Witch astride of a human back, Islam’s
Snowbound, a Winter Idyl
To the Memory of the Household It Describes This Poem is Dedicated by the Author “As the Spirit of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits, which be Angels of Light, are
The Farewell
Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage Gone, gone, sold and gone To the rice-swamp dank and lone. Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings Where the noisome insect stings Where
By Their Works
Call him not heretic whose works attest His faith in goodness by no creed confessed. Whatever in love’s name is truly done To free the bound and lift the fallen one Is done to
Ichabod
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn Which once he wore! The glory from his gray hairs gone Forevermore! Revile him not, the Tempter hath A snare for all; And pitying tears, not scorn
The Sycamores
In the outskirts of the village On the river’s winding shores Stand the Occidental plane-trees, Stand the ancient sycamores. One long century hath been numbered, And another half-way told Since the rustic Irish gleeman
Godspeed
Outbound, your bark awaits you. Were I one Whose prayer availeth much, my wish should be Your favoring trad-wind and consenting sea. By sail or steed was never love outrun, And, here or there,
Maud Muller
Maud Muller on a summer’s day Raked the meadow sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health. Singing, she wrought, and her merry gleee The mock-bird
The Eternal Goodness
O Friends! with whom my feet have trod The quiet aisles of prayer, Glad witness to your zeal for God And love of man I bear. I trace your lines of argument; Your logic
Barbara Frietchie
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree
Flowers in Winter
How strange to greet, this frosty morn, In graceful counterfeit of flower, These children of the meadows, born Of sunshine and of showers! How well the conscious wood retains The pictures of its flower-sown
Massachusetts To Virginia
The blast from Freedom’s Northern hills, upon its Southern way, Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay: No word of haughty challenging, nor battle bugle’s peal, Nor steady tread of marching files, nor clang
Randolph Of Roanoke
O Mother Earth! upon thy lap Thy weary ones receiving, And o’er them, silent as a dream, Thy grassy mantle weaving, Fold softly in thy long embrace That heart so worn and broken, And