Recollections of Childhood by S. Dryden Phelps (1842)

How blest the glad hours that were spent in my childhood,
While roaming with joy in the warm summer air,
By the mead, and the fountain, the hillock, and wild-wood,sdryden
When youthful companions attended me there.

The scenes of my childhood I fondly remember,
When summer, and winter, and day after day,
We hasted to school, ‘mid the winds of December,
Or rambled among the wild flowerets of May.

How cheerful the evenings when sitting together,
With brothers, and sisters, and parents so dear–
We told pleasing tales while the cold wintry weather
Beat loud on the windows, and snow filled the air.

How oft, when alone, I recall recollections
Of happier scenes in my earliest day–
Of social enjoyments with friends and connexions,
Now sleeping in silence, or far, far away.

Those sweet sunny seasons, oh, who will restore me?
Alas, for their absence–they ne’er will return:
Though long since departed, they seem still before me,
And yet shall remain in fond Memory’s urn.

by S. Dryden Phelps (1842)

Easter by George Herbert (1633)

RIse heart; thy Lord is risen.  Sing his praise
                                Without delayes,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
                                With him mayst rise:
That, as his death calcined thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more, just.

Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
                                With all thy art.
The crosse taught all wood to resound his name,
                                Who bore the same.
His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.

Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
                                Pleasant and long:
Or, since all musick is but three parts vied
                                 And multiplied,
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.

I got me flowers to straw thy way;
I got me boughs off many a tree:
But thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st thy sweets along with thee.

The Sunne arising in the East,
Though he give light, & th’ East perfume;
If they should offer to contest
With thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many sunnes to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we misse:
There is but one, and that one ever.

The Bee And The Pineapple by William Cowper

William_Cowper_by_Lemuel_Francis_AbbottSweeter sounds than music knows
Charm me, in Emmanuel’s Name;
All her hopes my spirit owes
To His birth, and cross, and shame.

When He came the angels sang
“Glory be to God on high,”
Lord, unloose my stammering tongue,
Who should louder sing than I.

Did the Lord a man become
That He might the law fulfill,
Bleed and suffer in my room,
And canst thou, my tongue, be still?

No, I must my praises bring,
Though they worthless are, and weak;
For should I refuse to sing
Sure the very stones would speak.

O my Savior, Shield, and Sun,
Shepherd, Brother, Husband, Friend,
Every precious name in one;
I will love Thee without end.

Sweeter Sound Than Music Knows by John Newton

Sweeter sounds than music knows
Charm me, in Emmanuel’s Name;
All her hopes my spirit owesNEWTON2_360
To His birth, and cross, and shame.

When He came the angels sang
“Glory be to God on high,”
Lord, unloose my stammering tongue,
Who should louder sing than I.

Did the Lord a man become
That He might the law fulfill,
Bleed and suffer in my room,
And canst thou, my tongue, be still?

No, I must my praises bring,
Though they worthless are, and weak;
For should I refuse to sing
Sure the very stones would speak.

O my Savior, Shield, and Sun,
Shepherd, Brother, Husband, Friend,
Every precious name in one;
I will love Thee without end.

Epitaph on a Hare by William Cowper (1784)

Here lies, whom hound did ne’er pursue,
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne’er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman’s halloo’,

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild jack-hare.

Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.

His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw,
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
On pippins’ russet peel;
And, when his juicy salads failed,
Sliced carrot pleased him well.

A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.

His frisking was at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear;
But most before approaching showers,
Or when a storm drew near.

Eight years and five round-rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out his idle noons,
And every night at play.

I kept him for his humour’s sake,
For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.

But now, beneath this walnut-shade
He finds his long, last home,
And waits in snug concealment laid,
Till gentler Puss shall come.

He, still more aged, feels the shocks
From which no care can save,
And, partner once of Tiney’s box,
Must soon partake his grave.

The Snail by William Cowper

To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all
                                                Together.

Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides
                                                Of weather.

Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house, with much
                                                Displeasure.

Where’er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own
                                                Whole treasure.

Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds
                                                The faster.

Who seeks him must be worse than blind,
(He and his house are so combin’d)
If, finding it, he fails to find
                                                Its master.