Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: A hundred years are past;— Our fathers, where are they ? Gone to the regions vast Of heaven's unending day. But the great work they wrought Remains to bless us still ; And hallows ever in our thought This gorge and wooded hill. BAYARD TAYLOR. I have no tears to shed upon thy grave, For thou hast had of life a heaped-up measure, Gathering from every land and every wave, Fresh stores of thought to add unto thy treasure. I saw thee first in youth, with eyes of light, And heart all eager for the world before thee: I marked thy upward course from height to height, Where thy strong will and gift of genius bore thee. Then came the hour when, rising in her pride, Thy country crowned with bays thy brilliant story, And sages gathered gladly to thy side, To add their laurels to thy wreath of glory. Finished at last thy work beneath the sun, Ripened the fruit for which this life is given, I cannot weep, thy course so nobly run, Thou takest a still higher flight to heaven. SUBMISSION. "Not my -will, but thine, 0 Lord." In youth we cling to breath, We will not hear of death, In this or future worlds we will not cease to be; To go to whence we came, All blown out like a flame, Seems like an evil thought or wild insanity. Time tames our heated blood, Dashes our hopeful mood, We win not what we would, we lose what most we prize; Our friends grow cold and fail, Faces we love grow pale, We close the white lids o'er the tender, trusting eyes. Weary and sad and worn, Failure and sorrow torn, Existence grows to seem a poorer, meaner thing; The thought of dying all, As leaves and roses fall, Loses in part its olden bitterness and sting. Here then our sad thoughts rest,— What God has willed is best; Be...