’Tis time to sleep, my little boy: Why gaze thy bright eyes so? At night our children, for new joy Home to thy father go, But thou art wakeful! Sleep, my c…

Dead art thou? No more dead than… Over whose couch the saving God d… ‘She is not dead but sleepeth,’ sa… And took her by the hand! Thee knowledge never from Life’s…

Come unto me, the Master says:- But how? I am not good; No thankful song my heart will rai… Nor even wish it could. I am not sorry for the past,

Hark, hark, a voice amid the quiet… It is thy Duty waiting thee witho… Rise from thy knees in hope, the h… A hand doth pull thee-it is Provi… Open thy door straightway, and get…

Job XIV. 13-15. RONDEL. Would that thou hid me in the grav… And kept me with death’s gaoler-ca… Until thy wrath away should wear

O Lord, my God, how long Shall my poor heart pant for a bou… How long, O mighty Spirit, shall… The murmur of Truth’s crystal wat… From the deep caverns of their end…

I AM a little weary of my life– Not thy life, blessed Father! Or… Too slowly laves the coral shores… Or I am weary of weariness and st… Open my soul-gates to thy living f…

The silence of traitorous feet! The silence of close-pent rage! The roar, and the sudden heart-bea… And the shot through the true hear… The truest heart of the age!

‘If I sit in the dust For lauding good wine, Ha, ha! it is just: So sits the vine!’ Abu Midjan sang as he sat in chai…

Old fables are not all a lie That tell of wondrous birth, Of Titan children, father Sky, And mighty mother Earth. Yea, now are walking on the ground

I. I honour Nature, holding it un… To look with jealousy on her desig… With every passing year more fast… About my heart; with her mysteriou… Claim I a fellowship not less aug…

‘Death, whaur do ye bide, auld De… ‘I bide in ilka breath,’ Quo’ Death; ‘No i’ the pyramids, No whaur the wormie rids

When round the earth the Father’s… Have gently drawn the dark; Sent off the sun to fresher lands, And curtained in the lark; ’Tis sweet, all tired with glowing…

‘Thou wanderest in the land of dre… O man of many songs! To thee what is, but looks and see… No realm to thee belongs!’ ‘Seest thou those mountains, faint…

A gentle wind, of western birth On some far summer sea, Wakes daisies in the wintry earth, Wakes hopes in wintry me. The sun is low; the paths are wet,