Unattributed Author

Huzzaed out of my seven senses.

Huzzaed out of my seven senses.

If o'er the dial glides a shade, redeem
The time for lo! it passes like a dream;
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If o'er the dial glides a shade, redeem
The time for lo! it passes like a dream;
But if 'tis all a blank, then mark the loss
Of hours unblest by shadows from the cross.

Our life's a flying shadow, God's the pole,
The index pointing at Him is our soul;
Death read more

Our life's a flying shadow, God's the pole,
The index pointing at Him is our soul;
Death the horizon, when our sun is set,
Which will through Christ a resurrection get.

To shoot at crows is powder flung away.

To shoot at crows is powder flung away.

Be aristocracy the only joy:
Let commerce perish--let the world expire.

Be aristocracy the only joy:
Let commerce perish--let the world expire.