I love to see thee, when the whip-poor-will Moans in the hedge behind the cottage-eaves; And when the plaintive crickets, hidden, trill Their harvest-hymn among the golden sheaves. But these are tender memories--ay, and more-- Fresh budding hope from memory's root that grows, To see earth clothed in beauty as before, When thou and we have struggled through the snows. Then come, sweet Moon, and fondly smile on me, From thy pure azure home, with face serene, While I will look abroad, and up to thee, And bless the great Creator of the scene. Others may call thee fickle--faithless--strange, When veiled in part, or wholly from their view; Yet, though twelve times a year thou _seems't_ to change, Again twelve times I ever find thee true. 'T is our gross planet, heaving misty shrouds, Or rolled before thee, that our darkness brings, Just as earth's bulk or vapor hides or clouds Our glorious view of higher, holier things. TOM TAR. I 'll tell you now about Tom Tar, The sailor stout and bold, Who o'er the ocean roamed so far, To countries new and old. Tom was a man of thousands; he Would ne'er complain nor frown, Though high and low the wind and sea Might toss him up and down. Amid the waters dark and deep, He had the happy art, When all around was storm, to keep Fair weather in his heart. Though winds were wild, and waves were rough, He 'd always cast about, And find within he 'd calm enough To stand the storms without. "For naught," said Tom, "is ever gained By sighs for what we lack; Nor can it mend a vessel strained, To let our temper crack. "And sure I am, the worst of storms, That any man should dread, Is that, which in the bosom forms, And musters to the head." Serene, and ever self-possessed, His mess-mates he would cheer, And often put their fears to rest, When dangers gathered near. If on the rocks the ship was cast, And surges swept the deck, Tom Tar was ever found the last, Who would forsake the wreck. And when his only hat and shoes The waters plucked from him, Why, these, he felt, were small to lose, Could he keep up and swim! Then through the billows, foam, and spray, That rose on every hand, He 'd, somehow, always find a way Of getting safe to land. The secret was, the fear and love Of Heaven had filled his soul: His trust was firm in One above, Howe'er the seas might roll. And Tom had sailed to many a shore, And many a wonder seen: The stories he could tell would more Than fill a magazine. He 'd seen mankind in every state, Almost, that man can know; But envied not the rich and great, Nor scorned the poor and low.