Standing, With Reluctant Feet, Where The Brook

For His Heart Was In His Work, And The Heart Giveth Grace Unto Every Art.

The Air Of Summer Was Sweeter Than Wine.

At First Laying Down, As A Fact Fundamental, That Nothing With God Can Be Accidental.

Under A Spreading Chestnut-tree The Village Smithy Stands; The Smith, A Mighty Man Is He, With Large And Sinewy Hands; And The Muscles Of His Brawny Arms Are Strong As Iron Bands.

Time Rides With The Old At A Great Pace. As Travellers On Swift Steeds See The Near Landscape Fly And Flow Behind Them, While The Remoter Fields And Dim Horizons Go With Them, And Seem Wheeling Round To Meet Them, So In Old Age Things Near Us Slip Away, And Distant Things Go With Us.