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Poems for 6th Graders

Table of Contents

The Thoughts of Youth
The Thoughts of Youth
by Margaret Tarrant
  1. Lend a Hand by Anonymous
  2. Evening Hymn by Anonymous
  3. The Carpenter's Shop by Amos Russel Wells
  4. Popping Corn by Anonymous
  5. Amazing Grace by John Newton
  6. Keep A-Pluggin' Away by Paul Laurence Dunbar
  7. My Friend by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
  8. The Brown Thrush by Lucy Larcom
  9. The Sandpiper by Celia Thaxter
  10. The Old Oaken Bucket by Samuel Woodworth
  11. There is no frigate like a book by Emily Dickinson
  12. King Solomon and the Ants by John Greenleaf Whittier
  13. When We Two Parted by George Gord, Lord Byron
  14. Contentment by Edward Dyer
  15. Autumn by Thomas Hood
  16. Winter by Charles T. Brooks
  17. The Inchcape Rock by Robert Southey
  18. The Sermon of St. Francis by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
  19. All Creatures of Our God and King by Francis of Assisi
  20. Grandfather's Clock by Henry C. Work
  21. The Two Kinds of People by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
  22. The Fountain by James Russell Lowell
  23. A Maple Leaf by Margaret E. Sangster
  24. A Bird came down the Walk (XXIII. IN THE GARDEN.) by Emily Dickinson

  1. Lend a Hand

    On the Stile
    On the Stile
    by Winslow Homer
    by Anonymous

    Lend a hand to one another
    In the daily toil of life;
    When we meet a weaker brother,
    Let us help him in the strife.
    There is none so rich but may,
    In his turn, be forced to borrow;
    And the poor man's lot to-day
    May become our own to-morrow.

    Lend a hand to one another:
    When malicious tongues have thrown
    Dark suspicion on your brother,
    Be not prompt to cast a stone.
    There is none so good but may
    Run adrift in shame and sorrow.

    Lend a hand to one another:
    In the race for Honor's crown;
    Should it fall upon your brother,
    Let not envy tear it down.
    Lend a hand to all, we pray,
    In their sunshine or their sorrow;
    And the prize they've won today
    May become our own to-morrow.

  2. There is no Frigate like a Book

    Interesting Story
    Interesting Story
    by Laura Muntz Lyall
    by Emily Dickinson

    There is no frigate like a book
    To take us lands away,
    Nor any coursers like a page
    Of prancing poetry.
    This traverse may the poorest take
    Without oppress of toll;
    How frugal is the chariot
    That bears a human soul!

  3. Autumn

    by Thomas Hood

    The autumn is old;
    The sear leaves are flying;
    He hath gathered up gold
    And now he is dying:
    Old age, begin sighing!

    The vintage is ripe;
    The harvest is heaping;
    But some that have sowed
    Have no riches for reaping:—
    Poor wretch, fall a-weeping!

    The year's in the wane;
    There is nothing adorning;
    The night has no eve,
    And the day has no morning;
    Cold winter gives warning.

    The rivers run chill;
    The red sun is sinking;
    And I am grown old,
    And life is fast shrinking;
    Here's enow for sad thinking!

  4. A Maple Leaf

    by Margaret E. Sangster

    So bright in death I used to say,
    So beautiful through frost and cold!
    A lovelier thing I know to-day,
    The leaf is growing old,
    And wears in grace of duty done,
    The gold and scarlet of the sun.

  5. Popping Corn

    Indian Corn and Mexican Vase
    by Cordelia Wilson
    by Anonymous. This old favorite among fall poems was featured in the famous McGuffey's Eclectic Readers. A warm and homey classic describing an autumn scene by the hearth, it is a great poem for children.

    One autumn night, when the wind was high,
    And the rain fell in heavy plashes,
    A little boy sat by the kitchen fire,
    A-popping corn in the ashes;
    And his sister, a curly-haired child of three,
    Sat looking on, just close to his knee.

    Pop! pop! and the kernels, one by one,
    Came out of the embers flying;
    The boy held a long pine stick in his hand,
    And kept it busily plying;
    He stirred the corn, and it snapped the more,
    And faster jumped to the clean-swept floor.

    Part of the kernels flew one way,
    And a part hopped out the other;
    Some flew plump into the sister's lap,
    Some under the stool of the brother;
    The little girl gathered them into a heap,
    And called them a flock of milk-white sheep.

  6. The Carpenter's Shop

    The Village Carpenter
    The Village Carpenter
    by Edward Henry Potthast
    by Amos Russel Wells

    I am a tool in the Carpenter's hand,
    And obedience only is mine.
    Never a whit may I understand
    The Carpenter's vast design.

    Mine to stay if He bids me stay,
    And go if He bids me go;
    Mine to plod in the same dull way
    Steadily to and fro.

    Mine to present a handle firm,
    And an edge that is sharp and true;
    Mine to achieve in my destined term,
    Just what He would have me do.

    The Nazareth shop in the centuries dead
    Has sunk from the sight of men.
    O joy if my life by the Carpenter led,
    May restore that shop again!

  7. Amazing Grace

    by John Newton

    Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)
    That saved a wretch like me!
    I once was lost, but now am found,
    Was blind, but now I see.

    'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
    And grace my fears relieved;
    How precious did that grace appear,
    The hour I first believed!

    Through many dangers, toils and snares,
    I have already come;
    'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
    And grace will lead me home.

    The Lord has promised good to me,
    His word my hope secures;
    He will my shield and portion be,
    As long as life endures.

    Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail
    And mortal life shall cease;
    I shall possess, within the veil,
    A life of joy and peace.

    The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
    The sun forbear to shine;
    But God, who called me here below,
    Will be forever mine.

  8. Keep A-Pluggin' Away

    by Paul Laurence Dunbar

    I've a humble little motto
    That is homely, though it's true, —
    Keep a-pluggin' away.
    It's a thing when I've an object
    That I always try to do, —
    Keep a-pluggin' away.
    When you've rising storms to quell,
    When opposing waters swell,
    It will never fail to tell, —
    Keep a-pluggin' away.

    If the hills are high before
    And the paths are hard to climb,
    Keep a-pluggin' away.
    And remember that successes
    Come to him who bides his time, —
    Keep a-pluggin' away.
    From the greatest to the least,
    None are from the rule released.
    Be thou toiler, poet, priest,
    Keep a-pluggin' away.

    Delve away beneath the surface,
    There is treasure farther down, —
    Keep a-pluggin' away.
    Let the rain come down in torrents,
    Let the threat'ning heavens frown,
    Keep a-pluggin' away.
    When the clouds have rolled away,
    There will come a brighter day
    All your labor to repay, —
    Keep a-pluggin' away.

    There'll be lots of sneers to swallow.
    There'll be lots of pain to bear, —
    Keep a-pluggin' away.
    If you've got your eye on heaven,
    Some bright day you'll wake up there,
    Keep a-pluggin' away.
    Perseverance still is king;
    Time its sure reward will bring;
    Work and wait unwearying,—
    Keep a-pluggin' away.

  9. My Friend

    by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

    When first I looked upon the face of Pain
    I shrank repelled, as one shrinks from a foe
    Who stands with dagger poised, as for a blow.
    I was in search of Pleasure and of Gain;
    I turned aside to let him pass: in vain;
    He looked straight in my eyes and would not go.
    "Shake hands," he said, "our paths are one, and so
    We must be comrades on the way, 'tis plain."

    I felt the firm clasp of his hand on mine;
    Through all my veins it sent a strengthening glow.
    I straightway linked my arm in his, and lo!
    He led me forth to joys almost divine;
    With God's great truths enriched me in the end,
    And now I hold him as my dearest friend.

  10. Winter

    Artist Unknown
    Artist Unknown
    by Charles T. Brooks

    Now no plumed throng
    Charms the wood with song;
    Icebound trees are glittering;
    Merry snowbirds, twittering,
    Fondly strive to cheer
    Scenes so cold and drear.

    Winter, still I see
    Many charms in thee,
    Love thy chilly greeting,
    Snowstorms fiercely beating,
    And the dear delights
    Of the long, long nights.

  11. The Brown Thrush

    by Lucy Larcom

    There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in a tree;
    "He's singing to me! he's singing to me!"
    And what does he say, little girl, little boy?
    "Oh, the world's running over with joy!
    Don't You hear? Don't you see?
    Hush! look! In my tree
    I'm as happy as happy can be!"

    And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see,
    And five eggs hid by me in the juniper tree?
    Don't meddle! don't touch! little girl, little boy,
    Or the world will lose some of its joy!
    Now I'm glad! now I'm free!
    And I always shall be,
    If you never bring sorrow to me."

    So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree,
    To you and to me, to you and to me;
    And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy,
    "Oh, the world's running over with joy!
    But long it won't be,
    Don't you know? Don't you see?
    Unless we're as good as can be."

  12. The Sandpiper

    by Celia Thaxter

    Across the lonely beach we flit,
    One little sandpiper and I,
    And fast I gather, bit by bit,
    The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry.
    The wild waves reach their hands for it,
    The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
    As up and down the beach we flit,
    One little sandpiper and I.

    Above our heads the sullen clouds
    Scud, black and swift, across the sky;
    Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
    Stand out the white lighthouses high.
    Almost as far as eye can reach
    I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
    As fast we flit along the beach,
    One little sandpiper and I.

    I watch him as he skims along,
    Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;
    He starts not at my fitful song,
    Nor flash of fluttering drapery.
    He has no thought of any wrong,
    He scans me with a fearless eye;
    Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,
    The little sandpiper and I.

    Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night,
    When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
    My driftwood fire will burn so bright!
    To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
    I do not fear for thee, though wroth
    The tempest rushes through the sky;
    For are we not God's children both,
    Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

  13. Horse

    by Elizabeth Madox Roberts

    His bridle hung around the post.
    The sun and the leaves made spots come down;
    I looked close at him through the fence;
    The post was drab and he was brown.

    His nose was long and hard and still,
    And on his lip were specks like chalk.
    But once he opened up his eyes,
    And he began to talk.

    He didn't talk out with his mouth;
    He didn't talk with words or noise.
    The talk was there along his nose;
    It seemed and then it was.

    He said the day was hot and slow,
    And he said he didn't like the flies;
    They made him have to shake his skin,
    And they got drowned in his eyes.

    He said that drab was just about
    The same as brown, but he was not
    A post, he said, to hold a fence.
    "I'm horse," he said, "that's what!"

    And then he shut his eyes again.
    As still as they had been before.
    He said for me to run along
    And not to bother him any more.

  14. The Old Oaken Bucket

    by Samuel Woodworth. "The Old Oaken Bucket" is a beautiful poem of fond childhood memories of life in the country. It is a poem that will strike a chord with anyone who feels a strong connection to an object from their past.

    How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
    When fond recollection presents them to view!
    The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
    And every loved spot which my infancy knew!
    The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,
    The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell,
    The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
    And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well—
    The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
    The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.

    That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure,
    For often at noon, when returned from the field,
    I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
    The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
    How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
    And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
    Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
    And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well—
    The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
    The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

    How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it
    As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips!
    Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
    The brightest that beauty or revelry sips.
    And now, far removed from the loved habitation,
    The tear of regret will intrusively swell.
    As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
    And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well—
    The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
    The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well!

  15. King Solomon and the Ants

    by John Greenleaf Whittier

    Out from Jerusalem
    The king rode with his great
    War chiefs and lords of state,
    And Sheba's queen with them.

    Proud in the Syrian sun,
    In gold and purple sheen,
    The dusky Ethiop queen
    Smiled on King Solomon.

    Wisest of men, he knew
    The languages of all
    The creatures great or small
    That trod the earth or flew.

    Across an ant-hill led
    The king's path, and he heard
    Its small folk, and their word
    He thus interpreted:

    "Here comes the king men greet
    As wise and good and just,
    To crush us in the dust
    Under his heedless feet."

    The great king bowed his head,
    And saw the wide surprise
    Of the Queen of Sheba's eyes
    As he told her what they said.

    "O king!" she whispered sweet,
    "Too happy fate have they
    Who perish in thy way
    Beneath thy gracious feet!

    "Thou of the God-lent crown,
    Shall these vile creatures dare
    Murmur against thee where
    The knees of kings kneel down?"

    "Nay," Solomon replied,
    "The wise and strong should seek
    The welfare of the weak;"
    And turned his horse aside.

    His train, with quick alarm,
    Curved with their leader round
    The ant-hill's peopled mound,
    And left it free from harm.

    The jeweled head bent low;
    "O king!" she said, "henceforth
    The secret of thy worth
    And wisdom well I know.

    "Happy must be the State
    Whose ruler heedeth more
    The murmurs of the poor
    Than flatteries of the great."

  16. When We Two Parted

    God Speed
    God Speed
    by Edmund Leighton
    by George Gordon, Lord Byron

    When we two parted
    In silence and tears,
    Half broken-hearted
    To sever for years,
    Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
    Colder thy kiss;
    Truly that hour foretold
    Sorrow to this.

    The dew of the morning
    Sunk chill on my brow—
    It felt like the warning
    Of what I feel now.
    Thy vows are all broken,
    And light is thy fame;
    I hear thy name spoken,
    And share in its shame.

    They name thee before me,
    A knell to mine ear;
    A shudder comes o’er me—
    Why wert thou so dear?
    They know not I knew thee,
    Who knew thee too well—
    Long, long shall I rue thee,
    Too deeply to tell.

    In secret we met—
    In silence I grieve,
    That thy heart could forget,
    Thy spirit deceive.
    If I should meet thee
    After long years,
    How should I greet thee?—
    With silence and tears.

  17. Contentment

    by Edward Dyer

    My mind to me a kingdom is;
    Such perfect joy therein I find
    As far excels all earthly bliss
    That God or Nature hath assigned;
    Though much I want that most would have,
    Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

    Content I live; this is my stay,—
    I seek no more than may suffice.
    I press to bear no haughty sway;
    Look, what I lack my mind supplies.
    Lo, thus I triumph like a king,
    Content with that my mind doth bring.

    I laugh not at another's loss,
    I grudge not at another's gain;
    No worldly wave my mind can toss;
    I brook that is another's bane.
    I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend;
    I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

    My wealth is health and perfect ease;
    My conscience clear my chief defense;
    I never seek by bribes to please
    Nor by desert to give offense.
    Thus do I live, thus will I die;
    Would all did so as well as I!

  18. Grandfather's Clock

    Entrance Passage
    Entrance Passage
    by Richard Goulburn Lovell
    by Henry C. Work

    My grandfather's clock was too tall for the shelf,
    So it stood ninety years on the floor;
    It was taller by half than the old man himself,
    Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.
    It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
    And was always his treasure and pride,
    But it stopped short ne'er to go again
    When the old man died.

    In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
    Many hours had he spent while a boy;
    And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
    And to share both his grief and his joy,
    For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
    With a blooming and beautiful bride,
    But it stopped short never to go again
    When the old man died.

    My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
    Not a servant so faithful he found,
    For it wasted no time and had but one desire,
    At the close of each week to be wound.
    And it kept in its place, not a frown upon its face,
    And its hands never hung by its side.
    But it stopped short never to go again
    When the old man died.

  19. The Inchcape Rock

    The Inchcape Rock
    The Inchcape Rock
    by Peter Graham
    by Robert Southey

    No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
    The Ship was still as she could be;
    Her sails from heaven received no motion,
    Her keel was steady in the ocean.

    Without either sign or sound of their shock,
    The waves flow’d over the Inchcape Rock;
    So little they rose, so little they fell,
    They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

    The Abbot of Aberbrothok
    Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
    On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
    And over the waves its warning rung.

    When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell,
    The Mariners heard the warning Bell;
    And then they knew the perilous Rock,
    And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok

    The Sun in the heaven was shining gay,
    All things were joyful on that day;
    The sea-birds scream’d as they wheel’d round,
    And there was joyaunce in their sound.

    The buoy of the Inchcpe Bell was seen
    A darker speck on the ocean green;
    Sir Ralph the Rover walk’d his deck,
    And fix’d his eye on the darker speck.

    He felt the cheering power of spring,
    It made him whistle, it made him sing;
    His heart was mirthful to excess,
    But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness.

    His eye was on the Inchcape Float;
    Quoth he, “My men, put out the boat,
    And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
    And I’ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”

    The boat is lower’d, the boatmen row,
    And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
    Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
    And he cut the bell from the Inchcape Float.

    Down sank the Bell with a gurgling sound,
    The bubbles rose and burst around;
    Quoth Sir Ralph, “The next who comes to the Rock,
    Won’t bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”

    Sir ralph the Rover sail’d away,
    He scour’d the seas for many a day;
    And now grown rich with plunder’d store,
    He steers his course for Scotland’s shore.

    So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky,
    They cannot see the sun on high;
    The wind hath blown a gale all day,
    At evening it hath died away.

    On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
    So dark it is they see no land.
    Quoth Sir Ralph, “It will be lighter soon,
    For there is the dawn of the rising Moon.”

    “Canst hear,” said one, “the breakers roar?
    For methinks we should be near the shore.”
    “Now, where we are I cannot tell,
    But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell.”

    They hear no sound, the swell is strong,
    Though the wind hath fallen they drift along;
    Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,
    “Oh Christ! It is the Inchcape Rock!”

    Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
    He curst himself in his despair;
    The waves rush in on every side,
    The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

    But even in his dying fear,
    One dreadful sound could the Rover hear;
    A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell,
    The Devil below was ringing his knell.

  20. The Sermon of St. Francis

    St. Francis
    St. Francis
    by Albert Chevallier Tayler
    by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Up soared the lark into the air,
    A shaft of song, a wingéd prayer,
    As if a soul released from pain
    Were flying back to heaven again.

    St. Francis heard: it was to him
    An emblem of the Seraphim;
    The upward motion of the fire,
    The light, the heat, the heart's desire.

    Around Assisi's convent gate
    The birds, God's poor who cannot wait,
    From moor and mere and darksome wood
    Come flocking for their dole of food.

    "O brother birds," St. Francis said,
    "Ye come to me and ask for bread,
    But not with bread alone to-day
    Shall ye be fed and sent away.

    "Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds,
    With manna of celestial words;
    Not mine, though mine they seem to be,
    Not mine, though they be spoken through me.

    "Oh, doubly are ye bound to praise
    The great Creator in your lays;
    He giveth you your plumes of down,
    Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown.

    "He giveth you your wings to fly
    And breathe a purer air on high,
    And careth for you everywhere,
    Who for yourselves so little care!"

    With flutter of swift wings and songs
    Together rose the feathered throngs,
    And singing scattered far apart;
    Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart.

    He knew not if the brotherhood
    His homily had understood;
    He only knew that to one ear
    The meaning of his words was clear.

  21. All Creatures of Our God and King

    by Francis of Assisi

    All creatures of our God and King
    Lift up your voice and with us sing,
    Alleluia! Alleluia!
    Thou burning sun with golden beam,
    Thou silver moon with softer gleam!
    Refrain:
    O praise Him! O praise Him!
    Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

    Thou rushing wind that art so strong,
    Ye clouds that sail in heav'n along,
    O praise Him! Alleluia!
    Thou rising moon, in praise rejoice,
    Ye lights of evening, find a voice! Refrain

    Thou flowing water, pure and clear,
    Make music for thy Lord to hear,
    O praise Him! Alleluia!
    Thou fire so masterful and bright,
    That givest man both warmth and light. Refrain

    And all ye men of tender heart,
    Forgiving others, take your part,
    O sing ye! Alleluia!
    Ye who long pain and sorrow bear,
    Praise God and on Him cast your care! Refrain

    Let all things their Creator bless,
    And worship Him in humbleness,
    O praise Him! Alleluia!
    Praise, praise the Father, praise the Son,
    And praise the Spirit, Three in One! Refrain

  22. The Two Kinds of People

    No; the two kinds of people on earth I mean,
    Are the people who lift and the people who lean.

    – Ella Wheeler Wilcox
    The Two Kinds of People
    by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

    There are two kinds of people on earth to-day;
    Just two kinds of people, no more, I say.

    Not the sinner and saint, for it's well understood,
    The good are half bad and the bad are half good.

    Not the rich and the poor, for to rate a man's wealth,
    You must first know the state of his conscience and health.

    Not the humble and proud, for in life's little span,
    Who puts on vain airs is not counted a man.

    Not the happy and sad, for the swift flying years
    Bring each man his laughter and each man his tears.

    No; the two kinds of people on earth I mean,
    Are the people who lift and the people who lean.

    Wherever you go, you will find the earth's masses
    Are always divided in just these two classes.

    And, oddly enough, you will find, too, I ween,
    There's only one lifter to twenty who lean.

    In which class are you? Are you easing the load
    Of overtaxed lifters, who toil down the road?

    Or are you a leaner, who lets others share
    Your portion of labor, and worry and care?

  23. The Fountain

    by James Russell Lowell

    Into the sunshine,
    Full of the light,
    Leaping and flashing,
    From morn till night!

    Into the moonlight,
    Whiter than snow,
    Waving so flower-like
    When the winds blow!

    Into the starlight,
    Rushing in spray,
    Happy at midnight,
    Happy by day!

    Ever in motion,
    Blithesome and cheery,
    Still climbing heavenward,
    Never aweary;

    Glad of all weathers,
    Still seeming best,
    Upward or downward,
    Motion, thy rest;

    Full of a nature
    Nothing can tame,
    Changed every moment,
    Ever the same;

    Ceaseless aspiring,
    Ceaseless content,
    Darkness or sunshine
    Thy element;

    Glorious fountain!
    Let my heart be
    Fresh, changeful, constant,
    Upward like thee!

  24. In the Garden

    Merula leucogenys
    Merula leucogenys
    by Philip Henry Gosse
    by Emily Dickinson

    A bird came down the walk:
    He did not know I saw;
    He bit an angle-worm in halves
    And ate the fellow, raw.

    And then he drank a dew
    From a convenient grass,
    And then hopped sidewise to the wall
    To let a beetle pass.

    He glanced with rapid eyes
    That hurried all abroad, —
    They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
    He stirred his velvet head

    Like one in danger; cautious,
    I offered him a crumb,
    And he unrolled his feathers
    And rowed him softer home

    Than oars divide the ocean,
    Too silver for a seam,
    Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
    Leap, plashless, as they swim.

  25. Evening Hymn

    by Anonymous

    Come to the sunset tree,
    The day is past and gone;
    The woodman's ax lies free,
    And the reaper's work is done;
    The twilight star to heaven,
    And the summer dew to flowers,
    And rest to us is given,
    By the soft evening hours.

    Sweet is the hour of rest,
    Pleasant the woods' low sigh,
    And the gleaming of the west,
    And the turf whereon we lie,
    When the burden and the heat
    Of the laborer's task is o'er,
    And kindly voices greet
    The tired one at the door.

    Yes, tuneful is the sound
    That dwells in whispering boughs:
    Welcome the freshness round,
    And the gale that fans our brows;
    But rest more sweet and still
    Than ever the nightfall gave,
    Our yearning hearts shall fill,
    In the world beyond the grave.

    There, shall no tempests blow,
    Nor scorching noontide heat;
    There, shall be no more snow,
    No weary, wandering feet;
    So we lift our trusting eyes
    From the hills our fathers trod,
    To the quiet of the skies,
    To the Sabbath of our God.

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