She is a married matron long ago With nations at her side; her milk doth flow Each year; but thee no husband dares to tame; Thy sole and virgin throne www Thy mood is ever changing - thy resolve the same. Sunlight and moonlight minister to thee; O'er the broad circle of the shoreless sea Heaven's two great lights forever set and rise, In vast and silent love Is gazing down upon thee with his hundred eyes. All night thou utterest forth thy solemn moan, Then in the morning thou dost calmly lie His day's work hath begun, Under the opening windows of the golden sky. The spirit of the mountain looks on thee With a sight-baffling shroud Mantling the gray blue islands in the western sky. Sometimes thou liftest up thine hands on high Holding rough dalliance with the fitful blast; Pierces with deadly chill The wet crew feebly clinging to their shattered mast. Foam-white along the border of the shore Through the thick mist of spray, Watchers for some struck vessel in the boiling tide. -Daughter and darling of remotest eld-- He wearies of long pain, Thou art as at the first-thou journey'dst not with him. ALFRED THE GREAT ALFRED THE GREAT. Born at Wantage, Berkshire, A.D. 849; died October 28, 901. As King of the West Saxons, A.D. 871-901, he not only waged war with the invading Danes, but instituted both judicial and educational reforms. The King translated Bede's "History of the Church in England," Boethius's "Consolation of Philosophy," Gregory's "Pastoral Care" and "Dialogues," directed the preparation of the "Saxon Chronicle,” and was an original contributor to the thought of his age. Alfred was the creator of English prose; the language in which he wrote being so literally the basis of English, that three-fourths of his Anglo-Saxon words now survive in English speech. He formed thus an English literature five hundred years before the time of Chaucer. And through the night Of this world doth grope Of heavenly hope. Thus it hath now Befallen my mind I know no more how God's goodness to find, But groan in my grief Troubled and tost, Needing relief For the world I have lost. A PSALM TO GOD O THOU, that art Maker of heaven and earth, Thou, by Thy strong holiness, drivest from far The moon, at Thy word, with his pale shining rays So also the Morning and Evening Star Behold too, O Father, Thou workest aright Short seasons of sunshine with frost on the skies. Thou givest the trees a south-westerly breeze, On earth and in heaven each creature and kind Forever Almighty One, Maker and Lord, On us, wretched earthworms, Thy pity be pour'd; Why wilt Thou that welfare to sinners should wend, But lettest weird ill the unguilty ones rend? Evil men sit, each on earth's highest seat, The sinner at all times is scorning the just, O Guide, if Thou wilt not steer fortune amain My Lord, overseeing all things from on high |