The Cowslip Is A Country Wench.

How Bless'd The Heart That Has A Friend. A Sympathizing Ear To Lend.

I Remember, I Remember The Roses, Red And White, The Violets, And The Lily-cups, Those Flowers Made Of Light! The Lilacs, Where The Robin Built, And Where My Brother Set The Laburmum On His Birthday,- The Tree Is Living Yet.

My Tears Must Stop, For Every Drop Hinders Needle And Thread.

The Lily Is All In White, Like A Saint, And So Is No Mate For Me.

Spontaneously To God Should Turn The Soul, Like The Magnetic Needle To The Pole; But What Were That Intrinsic Virtue Worth, Suppose Some Fellow, With More Zeal Than Knowledge, Fresh From St. Andrew's College, Should Nail The Conscious Needle To The North?