From off the earth the vapours cur… Went up to meet their joy; The boy awoke, and all the world Was waiting for the boy! The sky, the water, the wide earth

I.-BY THE CRADLE. Close her eyes: she must not peep! Let her little puds go slack; Slide away far into sleep: Sis will watch till she comes back…

They come to thee, the halt, the m… The devil-torn, the sick, the sore… Thy heart their well of life they… Thine ear their open door. Ah, who can tell the joy in Pales…

Nature, to him no message dost tho… Who in thy beauty findeth not the… To gird himself more strongly for… Of night and darkness. Oh, what c… The woods, the valleys, and the mo…

I like ye weel upo Sundays, Nanni… I’ yer goon and yer ribbons and a’… But I like ye better on Mondays,… Whan ye’re no sae buskit and braw. For whan we’re sittin sae douce,…

Lord, I’m an auld man, An’ I’m deein! An’ do what I can I canna help bein Some feart at the thoucht!

Where did you come from, baby dear… Out of the everywhere into here. Where did you get those eyes so bl… Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the light in them spark…

Here much and little shift and cha… With scale of need and time; There more and less have meanings… Which the world cannot rime. Sickness may be more hale than hea…

O God, whose daylight leadeth dow… Into the sunless way, Who with restoring sleep dost crow… The labour of the day! What I have done, Lord, make it c…

Hark, in the steeple the dull bell… Over the furrows ill ploughed by… Hark the bird-babble, the loud lar… Hark, from the sky, what the proph… Hark, in the pines, the free Wind…

A little bird sat on the edge of h… Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as… Day-long she had worked almost wit… And had filled every one of their… Her own she had filled just over-f…

I have only one foot, but thousand… My one foot stands well, but never… I’ve a good many arms, if you coun… But hundreds of fingers, large and… From the ends of my fingers my bea…

THOU art of this world, Christ.… Thou know’st our evens, our morns,… How moons, and hearts, and seasons… How we grow weary plodding on the… Of future joy how present pain ber…

Comes there, O Earth, no breathin… No pause upon thy many-chequered l… Now resting on my bed with listles… I mourn thee resting not. Continu… Hear I the plashing borders of th…

‘Bonny lassie, rosy lassie, Ken ye what is care? Had ye ever a thought, lassie, Made yer hertie sair?’ Johnnie said it, Johnnie seekin