Downstairs I laugh, I sport and j… But in my solitary room above I turn my face in silence to the w… My heart is breaking for a little… Though winter frosts are done,

If he would come to—day, to—day, t… O, what a day to—day would be! But now he’s away, miles and miles… From me across the sea. O little bird, flying, flying, fly…

Hope new born one pleasant morn Died at even; Hope dead lives nevermore. No, not in heaven. If his shroud were but a cloud

If stars dropped out of heaven, And if flowers took their place, The sky would still look very fair… And fair earth’s face. Winged angels might fly down to us

It is over. What is over? Nay, now much is over truly!— Harvest days we toiled to sow for; Now the sheaves are gathered newly… Now the wheat is garnered duly.

Somewhere or other there must sure… The face not seen, the voice not h… The heart that not yet—never yet—a… Made answer to my word. Somewhere or other, may be near or…

When a mounting skylark sings In the sunlit summer morn, I know that heaven is up on high, And on earth are fields of corn. But when a nightingale sings

Why were you born when the snow wa… You should have come to the cuckoo… Or when grapes are green in the cl… Or, at least, when lithe swallows… For their far off flying

A motherless soft lambkin Along upon a hill; No mother’s fleece to shelter him And wrap him from the cold: — I’ll run to him and comfort him,

Flowers preach to us if we will he… The rose saith in the dewy morn: I am most fair; Yet all my loveliness is born Upon a thorn.

The lily has a smooth stalk, Will never hurt your hand; But the rose upon her briar Is lady of the land. There’s sweetness in an apple tree…

This Advent moon shines cold and… These Advent nights are long; Our lamps have burned year after y… And still their flame is strong. ‘Watchman, what of the night?’ we…

“Sweet, thou art pale.” “More pale to see, Christ hung upon the cruel tree And bore His Father’s wrath for m… “Sweet, thou art sad.”