To bless a good man’s store;
Noon lulls us in a gloomy den,
And night is grown our day,
Up-rouse ye, then, my merry men!
And use it as ye may.
CATHERINE M. FANSHAWE
1765-1834
85. A Riddle on the Letter H
’Twas in heaven pronounced—it was mutter’d in hell,
And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell;