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Maxioms by Robert Williams Buchanan

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And the voice of men shall call,
"He is fallen like us all,
Though the weapon of read more

And the voice of men shall call,
"He is fallen like us all,
Though the weapon of the Lord was in his hand:"
And thine epitaph shall be--
"He was wretched ev'n as we;"
And thy tomb may be unhonoured in the land.

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So bent on self-sanctifying,--
That she never thought of trying
To save her poor husband as well.

So bent on self-sanctifying,--
That she never thought of trying
To save her poor husband as well.

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Pansies? You praise the ones that grow today
Here in the garden; had you seen the place
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Pansies? You praise the ones that grow today
Here in the garden; had you seen the place
When Sutherland was living!
Here they grew,
From blue to deeper blue, in midst of each
A golden dazzle like a glimmering star,
Each broader, bigger than a silver crown;
While here the weaver sat, his labor done,
Watching his azure pets and rearing them,
Until they seem'd to know his step and touch,
And stir beneath his smile like living things:
The very sunshine loved them, and would lie
Here happy, coming early, lingering late,
Because they were so fair.

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The earth is rocking, the skies are riven--
Jove in a passion, in god-like fashion,
Is breaking read more

The earth is rocking, the skies are riven--
Jove in a passion, in god-like fashion,
Is breaking the crystal urns of heaven.

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One fine day,
Says Mister Mucklewraith to me, says he.
"So! you're a poet in your house," read more

One fine day,
Says Mister Mucklewraith to me, says he.
"So! you're a poet in your house," and smiled.
"A Poet? God forbid," I cried; and then
It all came out: how Andrew slyly sent
Verse to the paper; how they printed it
In Poet's Corner.

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