Heed Not The Night; A Summer Lodge

A Silence, The Brief Sabbath Of An Hour, Reigns O'er The Fields; The Laborer Sits Within His Dwelling; He Has Left His Steers Awhile, Unyoked, To Bite The Herbage, And His Dog Sleeps Stretched Beside The Door-stone In The Shade. Now The Gray Marmot, With Uplifted Paws, No More Sits Listening By His Den, But Steals Abroad, In Safety, To The Clover-field, And Crops Its Juicy-blossoms.

Where Are The Flowers, The Fair Young Flowers, That Lately Sprang And Stood In Brighter Light And Softer Airs, A Beauteous Sisterhood?

Truth Gets Well If She Is Run Over By A Locomotive, While Error Dies Of Lockjaw If She Scratches Her Finger.

The Groves Were God's First Temple. Ere Man Learned To Hew The Shaft, And Lay The Architrave, And Spread The Roof Above Them,--ere He Framed The Lofty Vault, To Gather And Roll Back The Sound Of Anthems; In The Darkling Wood, Amidst The Cool And Silence, He Knelt Down And Offered To The Mightiest Solemn Thanks And Supplication.

The Little Wind-flower, Whose Just Opened Eye Is Blue As The Spring Heaven It Gazes At.