Heaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen

they saw there Radiant in glory the Father, and on his right hand

the Redeemer. Under them hear they the clang of harpstrings,

and angels from gold clouds Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with their

pinions of purple.

Closed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven

in their hearts and their faces, Up rose the children all, and each bowed him,

weeping full sorely, Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of

them pressed he Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his

hands full of blessings, Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent




UNDER a spreading chestnut tree

The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms

Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,

His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,

He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,

For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,

You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,

With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,

When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school

Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,

And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly

Like chaff from a threshing floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;

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