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Then I heard human accents answering:
"I am a god, made god by all thy prayers;
Wach stone becomes a god by worshipping;
I am a man who loves thee: in thy town
Many have loved thee, I am one of these."

Heap High the Golden Corn

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard!
Heap high the golden corn !
No richer gift has Autumn poured
From out her lavish horn !

The Song Of Hiawatha XVII: The Hunting Of Pau-Puk Keewis

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Full of wrath was Hiawatha

When he came into the village,

A Poem On The Last Day - Book II

© Edward Young

Now man awakes, and from his silent bed,
Where he has slept for ages, lifts his head;
Shakes off the slumber of ten thousand years,
And on the borders of new worlds appears.
Whate'er the bold, the rash adventure cost,
In wide Eternity I dare be lost.

Aims At Happiness

© Jane Taylor

HOW oft has sounded whip and wheel,

How oft is buckled spur to heel,

Tale III

© George Crabbe

bound;
In all that most confines them they confide,
Their slavery boast, and make their bonds their

Le Dernier Huron (1)

© Francois-Xavier Garneau

TRIOMPHE, destinée ! Enfin, ton heure arrive.

O peuple, tu ne seras plus.

Lines To Mrs. St. Leger

© Frances Anne Kemble

O friend! my heart is sad: 'tis strange,
As I sit musing on the change
That has come o'er my fate, and cast
A longing look upon the past,
That pleasant time comes back again
So freshly to my heart and brain,

"Too Low And Yet Too High."

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

HE came in velvet and in gold;
He wooed her with a careless grace;
A confidence too rashly bold
Breathed in his language and his face.

Psalm LXXXI. (81)

© John Milton

To God our strength sing loud, and clear,
Sing loud to God our King,
To Jacobs God, that all may hear
Loud acclamations ring.

Dion [See Plutarch]

© William Wordsworth

Serene, and fitted to embrace,

Where'er he turned, a swan-like grace

The Ghost - Book IV

Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence

To something of exalted sense

Poem Read At The Dinner Given To The Author By The Medical Profession Of The City Of New York, April

Good was the dinner, better was the talk;
Some whispered, devious was the homeward walk;
The story came from some reporting spy,
They lie, those fellows, oh, how they do lie!
Not ours those foot-tracks in the new-fallen snow,
Poets and sages never zigzagged so!

On the Prospect of Peace

To the Lord Privy Seal

Contending kings, and fields of death, too long

SANDALWOOD, you say, and in your thoughts it chimes
With Tyre and Solomon; to me it rhymes
With places bare upon Pacific mountains,
With spaces empty in the minds of men.