Follow Thou Thy Choice.

The Linden, In The Fervors Of July, Hums With A Louder Concert. When The Wind Sweeps The Broad Forest In Its Summer Prime, As When Some Master-hand Exulting Sweeps The Keys Of Some Great Organ, Ye Give Forth The Music Of The Woodland Depths, A Hymn Of Gladness And Of Thanks.

Fairest Of All That Earth Beholds, The Hues That Live Among The Clouds, And Flush The Air, Lingering, And Deepening At The Hour Of Dews.

Beautiful Isles! Beneath The Sunset Skies Tall, Silver-shafted Palm-trees Rise, Between Full Orange-trees That Shade The Living Colonade.

Lay Down The Axe; Fling By The Spade; Leave In Its Track The Toiling Plough; The Rifle And The Bayonet-blade For Arms Like Yours Were Fitter Now; And Let The Hands That Ply The Pen Quit The Light Task, And Learn To Wield The Horseman's Crooked Brand, And Rein The Charger On The Battle-field.

And At My Silent Window-sill The Jessamine Peeps In.