But, silent stream, speak out and tell me this: 
    I say that men and things are still the same;
  Were men as bold to do and dare? 
  Were women then as true and fair? 
    Did poets seek celestial flame,
  The hero die to gain a laureled brow,
  And women suffer, then as now?

CHRISTMAS CAROL

    Ring out, ye bells! 
    All Nature swells
  With gladness at the wondrous story,—­
    The world was lorn,
    But Christ is born
  To change our sadness into glory.

    Sing, earthlings, sing! 
    To-night a King
  Hath come from heaven’s high throne to bless us. 
    The outstretched hand
    O’er all the land
  Is raised in pity to caress us.

    Come at his call;
    Be joyful all;
  Away with mourning and with sadness! 
    The heavenly choir
    With holy fire
  Their voices raise in songs of gladness.

    The darkness breaks
    And Dawn awakes,
  Her cheeks suffused with youthful blushes. 
    The rocks and stones
    In holy tones
  Are singing sweeter than the thrushes.

    Then why should we
    In silence be,
  When Nature lends her voice to praises;
    When heaven and earth
    Proclaim the truth
  Of Him for whom that lone star blazes?

    No, be not still,
    But with a will
  Strike all your harps and set them ringing;
    On hill and heath
    Let every breath
  Throw all its power into singing!

A SUMMER PASTORAL

  It’s hot to-day.  The bees is buzzin’
    Kinder don’t-keer-like aroun’
  An’ fur off the warm air dances
    O’er the parchin’ roofs in town. 
  In the brook the cows is standin’;
    Childern hidin’ in the hay;
  Can’t keep none of ’em a workin’,
    ’Cause it’s hot to-day.

  It’s hot to-day.  The sun is blazin’
     Like a great big ball o’ fire;
  Seems as ef instead o’ settin’
    It keeps mountin’ higher an’ higher. 
  I’m as triflin’ as the children,
    Though I blame them lots an’ scold;
  I keep slippin’ to the spring-house,
    Where the milk is rich an’ cold.

  The very air within its shadder
    Smells o’ cool an’ restful things,
  An’ a roguish little robin
    Sits above the place an’ sings. 
  I don’t mean to be a shirkin’,
    But I linger by the way
  Longer, mebbe, than is needful,
  ’Cause it’s hot to-day.

  It’s hot to-day.  The horses stumble
    Half asleep across the fiel’s;
  An’ a host o’ teasin’ fancies
    O’er my burnin’ senses steals,—­
  Dreams o’ cool rooms, curtains lowered,
    An’ a sofy’s temptin’ look;
  Patter o’ composin’ raindrops
    Or the ripple of a brook.