And At My Silent Window-sill The Jessamine

Or, Bide Thou Where The Poppy Blows With Windflowers Fail And Fair.

It Is Said To Be The Manner Of Hypochondriacs To Change Often Their Physician.

And At My Silent Window-sill The Jessamine Peeps In.

Ah, Never Shall The Land Forget How Gush'd The Life-blood Of The Brave, Gush'd Warm With Hope And Courage Yet, Upon The Soil They Fought To Save!

The Linden, In The Fervors Of July, Hums With A Louder Concert. When The Wind Sweeps The Broad Forest In Its Summer Prime, As When Some Master-hand Exulting Sweeps The Keys Of Some Great Organ, Ye Give Forth The Music Of The Woodland Depths, A Hymn Of Gladness And Of Thanks.