William Billington

A FLOWER hath faded from my heart's own garden,
Whose blossoms should have gemmed the crown of Life,
Alas for me! Hope's golden day was marred in
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I, WHO have stood unharmed through one long week
Of centuries, whilst wrestling with my foe,
Have ever borne the belt from old King Time,
And though he still the victory doth seek,
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I WANDERED forth to watch the infant Day
Sow diamonds over plain and woodland copse;
The Sun, just glancing o'er the mountains gray,
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LET us sing the praise of Beauty,
For the earth is beautiful,
And the stars are full of beauty
And the skies of stars are full.
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OLD Christmas cometh round
With the snow of ages crowned,
And the weight of one more winter on his brow;
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A Brother dear hath mingled with the dust!
A true Oddfellow,-brethren, was he not
True to his Order-faithful to its trust?
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FAREWELL, old year, for thy death-knell has rung!
One solemn peal, flung from the tower of Time,
Proclaims that to the mighty Past belong
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The might of right, the love of love, the fire
Of hope and aspiration urged him on,
While Prince for peace and freedom tuned his lyre.
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I STOOD upon a steep cloud-haunted hill,
When clear and cloudless was the evening sky;
As bliss fills Heaven, did sacred silence fill
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PURE, Sun, which round my darkened orb of being
Once poured a flood of sanctifying light,
Whose sacred presence makes the soul far-seeing,
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There's nobuddy knows wod we'n gooan through
    Sin' th' factories stopt at fost,
An' heaw mitch life's bin wasted too,
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WEIRD Silence round the Earth her robe had wound,
'Twas Winter, and I wandered forth alone;
'Twas morning, and the hoar-frost on the ground,
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'TIS midnight's still, mysterious noon!
Earth sleeps. The silver-mantled moon,
With maiden aspect cold and clear,
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MY heart always pure homage will pay
To its Empress Poesy,
And the tapers that shine in her palace divine
Will my load-star of life still be;
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I MET with a wild and a wayward Fawn,
Who had no ill intent,
But lawless left in the forest alone
Was often on mischief bent.
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THE morning sun was hid behind the mountains,
A sea of light came surging up the skies,
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WHEN all the world with wonder teemed,
More fair than Fancy ever dreamed,
And God through all things burned and beamed,
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As the bud is to the bee,
Or the blossom to the tree,
As the summer to the woods,
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INHABITANT of mine own native vale,
Sweet-scented consort of the red wild-rose
Which pours its perfume on the summer's gale,
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THE withered leaves are from the branches falling,
The sky looks leaden, winds are chill, and, hark!
Through flowerless vales the voiceful brooks are brawling,
The hills grow bleaker, age begins to mark
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