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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 139 pages of information about Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems.

CONSIDER

(Macmillan’s Magazine, Jan. 1866.)

     Consider
The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:—­
     We are as they;
     Like them we fade away,
As doth a leaf.

     Consider
The sparrows of the air of small account: 
     Our God doth view
Whether they fall or mount,—­
     He guards us too. 10

     Consider
The lilies that do neither spin nor toil,
     Yet are most fair:—­
     What profits all this care
And all this coil?

     Consider
The birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks;
     God gives them food:—­
Much more our Father seeks
     To do us good. 20

HELEN GREY

(Macmillan’s Magazine, March 1866.)

Because one loves you, Helen Grey,
  Is that a reason you should pout,
  And like a March wind veer about,
And frown, and say your shrewish say? 
Don’t strain the cord until it snaps,
  Don’t split the sound heart with your wedge,
  Don’t cut your fingers with the edge
Of your keen wit; you may, perhaps.

Because you’re handsome, Helen Grey,
  Is that a reason to be proud? 10
  Your eyes are bold, your laugh is loud,
Your steps go mincing on their way;
But so you miss that modest charm
  Which is the surest charm of all: 
  Take heed, you yet may trip and fall,
And no man care to stretch his arm.

Stoop from your cold height, Helen Grey,
  Come down, and take a lowlier place;
  Come down, to fill it now with grace;
Come down you must perforce some day:  20
For years cannot be kept at bay,
  And fading years will make you old;
  Then in their turn will men seem cold,
When you yourself are nipped and grey.

BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON

B.C. 570

(Macmillan’s Magazine, October 1866.)

Here where I dwell I waste to skin and bone;
  The curse is come upon me, and I waste
  In penal torment powerless to atone. 
The curse is come on me, which makes no haste
  And doth not tarry, crushing both the proud
  Hard man and him the sinner double-faced. 
Look not upon me, for my soul is bowed
  Within me, as my body in this mire;
  My soul crawls dumb-struck, sore-bested and cowed. 
As Sodom and Gomorrah scourged by fire, 10
  As Jericho before God’s trumpet-peal,
  So we the elect ones perish in His ire. 
Vainly we gird on sackcloth, vainly kneel
  With famished faces toward Jerusalem: 
  His heart is shut against us not to feel,
His ears against our cry He shutteth them,

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