At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;

Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,

With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran;
Even children follow'd, with endearing wile,
And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest,
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven:
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

THE BEST SERVICE

It is something to make two blades of grass grow where only one was growing, it is much more to have been the occasion of the planting of an oak which shall defy twenty scores of winters, or of an elm which shall canopy with its green cloud of foliage half as many generations of mortal immortalities. I have written many verses, but the best poems I have produced are the trees I planted on the hillside that overlooks the broad meadows, scalloped and rounded at their edges by loops of the sinuous Housatonic. Nature finds rhymes for them in the recurring measures of the seasons. Winter strips them of their ornaments and gives them, as it were, in prose translation, and Summer clothes them in all the splendor of their leafy language.

A STRIP OF BLUE

I do not own an inch of land,

But all I see is mine,

The orchard and the mowing-fields,
The lawns and gardens fine.
The winds my tax-collectors are,
They bring me tithes divine, —
Wild scents and subtle essences,
A tribute rare and free;
And, more magnificent than all,
My window keeps for me
A glimpse of blue immensity,-
A little strip of sea.

Richer am I than he who owns
Greats fleets and argosies;
I have a share in every ship
Won by the inland breeze
To loiter on yon airy road
Above the apple-trees.

I freight them with my untold dreams;

Each bears my own picked crew; And nobler cargoes wait for them

Than ever India knew,

My ships that sail into the East

Across that outlet blue.

Sometimes they seem like living shapes,

The people of the sky, —

Guests in white raiment coming down

From Heaven, which is close by;

I call them by familiar names,

As one by one draws nigh,
So white, so light, so spirit-like,

From violet mists they bloom!
The aching wastes of the unknown
Are half reclaimed from gloom,
Since on life's hospitable sea

All souls find sailing-room.

The ocean grows a weariness
With nothing else in sight;

In east and west, its north and south,
Spread out from morn till night;
We miss the warm, caressing shore,
Its brooding shade and light.
A part is greater than the whole;

By hints are mysteries told.
The fringes of eternity, -

God's sweeping garment-fold,

In that bright shred of glittering sea,
I reach out for, and hold.

The sails, like flakes of roseate pearl,

Float in upon the mist;

The waves are broken precious stones,

Sapphire and amethyst,

Washed from celestial basement walls

By suns unsetting kissed.

Out through the utmost gates of space,
Past where the gray stars drift,
To the widening Infinite, my soul
Glides on, a vessel swift;

Yet loses not her anchorage
In yonder azure rift.

Here sit I, as a little child:

The threshold of God's door
Is that clear band of chrysoprase;
Now the vast temple floor,
The blinding glory of the dome
I bow my head before:
Thy universe, O God, is home,

In height or depth, to me;
Yet here upon Thy footstool green
Content am I to be;

Glad, when is opened unto my need
Some sea-like glimpse of Thee.

DAVID AND GOLIATH

Goliath. Where is the mighty man of war, who dares
Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief?

What victor king, what general drenched in blood,
Claims this high privilege? What are his rights?
What proud credentials does the boaster bring,

To prove his claim?

What cities laid in ashes,

What ruined provinces, what slaughtered realms,
Has he to boast? Is his bright armory

Thick-set with spears, and swords, and coats of mail
Of vanquished nations, by a single arm
Subdued? Where is the mortal man so bold,

So much a wretch, so out of love with life,
To dare the weight of this uplifted spear?
David. Behold thy foe!

Direct my sight, I do not war with boys.

Dav. I stand prepared; thy single arm to mine. Gol. Why this is mockery, minion! it may chance To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee; But tell me who, of all this numerous host,

Expects his death from me? Which is the man
Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defence!

Dav. The election of my sovereign falls on me.
Gol. On thee, on thee! by Dagon, 'tis too much!
Thou curled minion! thou a nation's champion!
"Twould move my mirth at any other time;

And tempt me not too far.

But trifling's out of tune.

Begone, light boy!

I do defy thee,

Hast thou not scorned

Dav.

Thou foul idolater!

The armies of the living God I serve?

By me he will avenge upon thy head

Thy nation's sins and thine. Armed with his name,