JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.

 FROM CASA GUIDI WINDOWS.

 JULIET OF NATIONS.

    I heard last night a little child go singing
     ’Neath Casa Guidi windows, by the church,
    O bella liberta, O bella!—­stringing
      The same words still on notes he went in search
    So high for, you concluded the upspringing
      Of such a nimble bird to sky from perch
    Must leave the whole bush in a tremble green,
      And that the heart of Italy must beat,
    While such a voice had leave to rise serene
     ’Twixt church and palace of a Florence street;
    A little child, too, who not long had been
      By mother’s finger steadied on his feet,
    And still O bella liberta he sang.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

 WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE!

“Woodman, Spare That Tree” (by George Pope Morris, 1802-64) is included in this collection because I have loved it all my life, and I never knew any one who could or would offer a criticism upon it.  Its value lies in its recognition of childhood’s pleasures.

    Woodman, spare that tree! 
      Touch not a single bough! 
    In youth it sheltered me,
      And I’ll protect it now. 
   ’Twas my forefather’s hand
      That placed it near his cot;
    There, woodman, let it stand,
      Thy ax shall harm it not.

    That old familiar tree,
      Whose glory and renown
    Are spread o’er land and sea—­
      And wouldst thou hew it down? 
    Woodman, forbear thy stroke! 
      Cut not its earth-bound ties;
    Oh, spare that aged oak
      Now towering to the skies!

    When but an idle boy,
      I sought its grateful shade;
    In all their gushing joy
      Here, too, my sisters played. 
    My mother kissed me here;
      My father pressed my hand—­
    Forgive this foolish tear,
      But let that old oak stand.

    My heart-strings round thee cling,
      Close as thy bark, old friend! 
    Here shall the wild-bird sing,
      And still thy branches bend. 
    Old tree! the storm still brave! 
      And, woodman, leave the spot;
    While I’ve a hand to save,
      Thy ax shall harm it not.

GEORGE POPE MORRIS.

 ABIDE WITH ME.

“Abide With Me” (Henry Francis Lyte, 1793-1847) appeals to our natural longing for the unchanging and to our love of security.

    Abide with me! fast falls the eventide;
    The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide! 
    When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
    Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

    Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
    Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
    Change and decay in all around I see: 
    O Thou who changest not, abide with me!

HENRY FRANCIS LYTE.