And this improvement is, to turnThe things which God has givenTo their best purpose, as we learnTo make the place where we sojournHomelike and more like Heaven.
And this improvement is, to turnThe things which God has givenTo their best purpose, as we learnTo make the place where we sojournHomelike and more like Heaven.
On Bancroft height Aurora's faceShines brighter than a star,As stepping forth in dewy grace,The gates of day unbar;And lo! the firmament, the hills,And the vales that intervene—Creation's self with gladness thrillsTo greet the matin queen.On Bancroft height the atmosphereIs but an endless waftOf life's elixir, pure and clearAs mortal ever quaffed;And such the sweet salubrityOf air and altitude,Is banished many a maladyAnd suffering subdued.
On Bancroft height Aurora's faceShines brighter than a star,As stepping forth in dewy grace,The gates of day unbar;And lo! the firmament, the hills,And the vales that intervene—Creation's self with gladness thrillsTo greet the matin queen.
On Bancroft height the atmosphereIs but an endless waftOf life's elixir, pure and clearAs mortal ever quaffed;And such the sweet salubrityOf air and altitude,Is banished many a maladyAnd suffering subdued.
On Bancroft height the sunset glowWhen day departing diesOutrivals all that tourists knowOf famed Italian skies;And happy dwellers round aboutWho view the scene arightIn admiration grow devoutAnd laud the Lord of light.Round Bancroft height rich memoriesCommingle earth's affairs,Among the world's celebrities,Of him whose name it bears;The scholar-wise compatriotWho left to later menThe grand achievements unforgotOf that historic pen.Fair Bancroft height revisitedWhen all the land is white,A halo crowns its noble headImpelling fresh delight;The daring wish in winter-timeThe blizzard to defyThose shining slippery slopes to climbUp nearer to the sky.
On Bancroft height the sunset glowWhen day departing diesOutrivals all that tourists knowOf famed Italian skies;And happy dwellers round aboutWho view the scene arightIn admiration grow devoutAnd laud the Lord of light.
Round Bancroft height rich memoriesCommingle earth's affairs,Among the world's celebrities,Of him whose name it bears;The scholar-wise compatriotWho left to later menThe grand achievements unforgotOf that historic pen.
Fair Bancroft height revisitedWhen all the land is white,A halo crowns its noble headImpelling fresh delight;The daring wish in winter-timeThe blizzard to defyThose shining slippery slopes to climbUp nearer to the sky.
Though Boreas abrade the cheekWith buffetings of snow,He gives a vigor that the weakAnd languid never know;And with rejuvenescent thrill,Like children everywhere,Bestirs the rhapsody, the willTo make a snow-man there.On Bancroft height and Bancroft towerSuch vistas charm the eye'Twere life's consummate, glorious hourBut to behold—and die;Yet in the sparkle and the glowIs earth so very fairThe spirit lingers, loath to go,And dreams of heaven—up there.
Though Boreas abrade the cheekWith buffetings of snow,He gives a vigor that the weakAnd languid never know;And with rejuvenescent thrill,Like children everywhere,Bestirs the rhapsody, the willTo make a snow-man there.
On Bancroft height and Bancroft towerSuch vistas charm the eye'Twere life's consummate, glorious hourBut to behold—and die;Yet in the sparkle and the glowIs earth so very fairThe spirit lingers, loath to go,And dreams of heaven—up there.
When I was young, my heart elateWith ardent notions warm,I thirsted to inaugurateA spirit of reform;The universe was all awry,Philosophy despite,And mundane things disjointed IWas bound to set aright.My mind conceived a million plans,For Hope was brave and strong,But dared not with unaided handsCombat a giant wrong;So with caress I sought to coaxThose who had humored meIn infancy—the dear old folks—And gain their sympathy.But quarreling with extant lawsThey would have deemed a shameWho clung to error, just becauseTheir fathers did the same.I sought in Pleasure's gilded halls,Where grace and beauty stirredAt revelry's impetuous calls,To make my projects heard.
When I was young, my heart elateWith ardent notions warm,I thirsted to inaugurateA spirit of reform;The universe was all awry,Philosophy despite,And mundane things disjointed IWas bound to set aright.
My mind conceived a million plans,For Hope was brave and strong,But dared not with unaided handsCombat a giant wrong;So with caress I sought to coaxThose who had humored meIn infancy—the dear old folks—And gain their sympathy.
But quarreling with extant lawsThey would have deemed a shameWho clung to error, just becauseTheir fathers did the same.I sought in Pleasure's gilded halls,Where grace and beauty stirredAt revelry's impetuous calls,To make my projects heard.
Then turned to stately palacesOf luxury and ease,Where wealth's absorbing object wasThe master's whim to please;And spoke of evils unredressed,Of danger yet to be—They only answered, like the rest:"But what is that to me?"And even piousdevotéesWhom sacred walls immureCondemned me (as by feeble praise)—What more could I endure?Down by the stream, so pure and clearThat sunbeams paused to drink,In loneliness and grief sincereI pressed its grassy brink.Thick darkness seemed to veil the day;Beyond a realm of tearsUtopia's land of promise lay;And not till later yearsI learned this lesson—that to winResults from labor sure,"Reformers" always must beginAmong the lowly poor.
Then turned to stately palacesOf luxury and ease,Where wealth's absorbing object wasThe master's whim to please;And spoke of evils unredressed,Of danger yet to be—They only answered, like the rest:"But what is that to me?"
And even piousdevotéesWhom sacred walls immureCondemned me (as by feeble praise)—What more could I endure?Down by the stream, so pure and clearThat sunbeams paused to drink,In loneliness and grief sincereI pressed its grassy brink.
Thick darkness seemed to veil the day;Beyond a realm of tearsUtopia's land of promise lay;And not till later yearsI learned this lesson—that to winResults from labor sure,"Reformers" always must beginAmong the lowly poor.
For they whose lot privation isAnd whose delights are few,Whose aggregate of miseriesIs want of something new,The measure of whose happinessIs but an empty cup,For every novelty will pressAlert to fill it up.
For they whose lot privation isAnd whose delights are few,Whose aggregate of miseriesIs want of something new,The measure of whose happinessIs but an empty cup,For every novelty will pressAlert to fill it up.
Transcriber's Notes:Page 27: Changed Galiee to Galilee (Printer's Error)Page 47: Indented 1st stanza to match othersPage 173: Changed prarie to prairie (Printer's Error)