Here Hyacinths Of Heavenly Blue, Shook Their

Eagle Of Flowers! I See Thee Stand, And On The Sun's Noon-glory Gaze; With Eye Like His, Thy Lids Expand, And Fringe Their Disk With Golden Rays: Though Fix'd On Earth, In Darkness Rooted There, Light Is Thy Element, Thy Dwelling Air, Thy Prospect Heaven.

Dark-green And Gemm'd With Flowers Of Snow, With Close Uncrowded Branches Spread Not Proudly High, Nor Meanly Low, A Graceful Myrtle Rear'd Its Head.

To-morrow — Oh, 'twill Never Be, If We Should Live A Thousand Years! Our Time Is All To-day, To-day, The Same, Though Changed; And While It Flies With Still Small Voice The Moments Say: "to-day, To-day, Be Wise, Be Wise.

Here Hyacinths Of Heavenly Blue, Shook Their Rich Tresses To The Morn.

Yet Nightly Pitch My Moving Tent, A Day's March Nearer Home.