The Ox is host in Juda’s stall, And Host of more than onelie one, For close she gathereth withal Our Lorde her littel Sonne. Glad Hinde and King Their Gyfte may bring But wo’d to-night my Teares were there, _Amen, Amen_: Between her Bosom and His hayre! [Illustration] _A Talisman_ TAKE Temperance to thy breast, While yet is the hour of choosing, As arbitress exquisite Of all that shall thee betide; For better than fortune’s best Is mastery in the using, And sweeter than anything sweet The art to lay it aside! [Illustration] _Heathenesse_ NO round boy-satyr, racing from the mere, Shakes on the mountain-lawn his dripping head This many a May, your sister being dead, Ye Christian folk! your sister great and dear. To breathe her name, to think how sad-sincere Was all her searching, straying, dreaming, dread, How of her natural night was Plato bred, A star to keep the ways of honor clear, Who will not sigh for her? who can forget Not only unto campèd Israel, Nor martyr-maids that as a bridegroom met The Roman lion’s roar, salvation fell? To Him be most of praise that He is yet Your God thro’ gods not inaccessible. [Illustration] _For Izaak Walton_ WHAT trout shall coax the rod of yore In Itchen stream to dip? What lover of her banks restore That sweet Socratic lip? Old fishing and wishing Are over many a year. O hush thee, O hush thee! heart innocent and dear. Again the foamy shallows fill, The quiet clouds amass, And soft as bees by Catherine Hill At dawn the anglers pass, And follow the hollow, In boughs to disappear. O hush thee, O hush thee! heart innocent and dear. Nay, rise not now, nor with them take One silver-freckled fool! Thy sons to-day bring each an ache For ancient arts to cool. But, father, lie rather Unhurt and idle near; O hush thee, O hush thee! heart innocent and dear. While thought of thee to men is yet A sylvan playfellow, Ne’er by thy marble they forget In pious cheer to go. As air falls, the prayer falls O’er kingly Winchester: O hush thee, O hush thee! heart innocent and dear. [Illustration] _Sherman: “An Horatian Ode”_ THIS was the truest man of men, The early-armored citizen, Who had, with most of sight, Most passion for the right; Who first forecasting treason’s scope Able to sap the Founders’ hope, First to the laic arm Cried ultimate alarm; Who bent upon his guns the while A misconceived and aching smile, And felt, thro’ havoc’s part, A torment of the heart, Sure, when he cut the moated South From Shiloh to Savannah’s mouth, Braved grandly to the end, To conquer like a friend; In whom the Commonwealth withstood Again the Carolinian blood, The beautiful proud line Beneath an evil sign, And taught his foes and doubters still How fatal is a good man’s will, That like a sun or sod Thinks not itself, but God!