Friend after friend departs 123 From the dear native moorlands, for many a day 50 From the mighty Pacific with soft-swelling waves...... 50 Hark! 'tis the village bell 67 Have you not heard in the sweet summer-time 54 132 He prayeth well who loveth well Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere Hop about, pretty sparrows, and pick up the hay 112 24 It's no in titles nor in rank I would not enter on my list of friends. PAGE 116 I would not have a slave to till my ground.. 120 Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul Not upon earth, not upon earth, my soul Now bursts the wave that from the cloud impends Oh! blithe new-comer! I have heard Oh! call my brother back to me Oh, God! beyond that boundless sea .................................................. PAGE Seest thou the trees that rise around Slow, slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest Soft are the fruitful showr's that bring So, so, you are running away, Mr. Fly Stay, stay the present instant.. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet.. The quality of mercy is not strained There is a flower, a little flower....... There is a land, of every land the pride There is a pleasure in the pathless woods There's a good time coming yet... There's not a star whose twinkling light There was a poor widow, she lived in a cot 'Tis the voice of the sluggard, I heard him complain.. To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall To prayer! to prayer! for the morning breaks.. PAGE 46 49 96 To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell.. 93 We watch for the light of the morn to break.. 115 What if the little rain should say 104 When friend from friend is parting 64 When I look up to yonder sky 21 When the hours of day are numbered Yes, God is love, or why should we 87 4 27 14 83 28 123 'You are old, father William,' the young man cried... 37 |