Poems with rhymes of guard

And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better,
The hate of those ye guard --

I'm a Californian Guard
And my banner flies aloft,
But the stones are O, so hard!

The laws we made and guard,
Our honour, lives, and land
Are given for reward

The hot winds ride as a guard;
Before me the fret of the swamps is bound
And the way of the wild-fowl barred.

Calm would he pray, with his own thoughts to ward
Thy thunder off, nor want the angels' guard.

To pour in Virtue's lap her just reward;
Keep Vice restrain'd behind a double guard;

Soon as she spreads her hand, th' aerial guard
Descend, and sit on each important card:

Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard,

In reeking tube and iron shard—
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard—

I'm up on the bally wood-pile at the back of the barracks yard;
"A damned disgrace to the force, sir", with a comrade standing guard;

Were none of you, gallants, e'er driven so hard,
As when the poor kind soul was under guard,

And thus each day I dodged about and kept the strictest guard
For portly men with each a wen upon the Boulevard.

In St. James's palace yard,
We watched in a shower
The changing of the guard.

There's a class of men (and women) who are always on their guard—
Cunning, treacherous, suspicious—feeling softly—grasping hard—

We fight like women, and feel as much; the thoughts of our hearts we guard;
Where scarcely the scorn of a god could touch,
the sneer of a sneak hits hard;

And a beautiful view of the yard,
O it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"

Gentle or hard,
Thee we guard, thee we guard,

While Po Hill is still on guard,
Looking land and ocean ward,

The poisoned stroke of fate to ward,
His bosom with my own to guard:

Where thou, my chamber for to ward,
Hast set a guard