The Mistress of the Manse

The paths that led with devious trend To where the ivied chapel stood, There their long passage found its end, And there they gathered in a brood Of gentle clamor round their fr...

Toil was not toil, except in name; Care was not care, but only means To feed with holy oil the flame That warmed her soul, and lit the scenes Through which her figure went and c...

A fluttering bevy left the gate With hurried steps, and sped away; And then a coach with drooping freight, Wrapped in its film of dusty gray, Stopped; and the pastor and his mate

"Rockaby, lullaby, bees in the clover!-- Crooning so drowsily, crying so low-- Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover! Down into wonderland-- Down to the under-land-- Go, oh go! Do...

They wiped his forehead of its stain, They bore him tenderly away, Through teeming mart and wide champaign, Till on a twilighty cool and gray, And wet with weeping of the rain,