Little one, you must not fret That I take your clothes away; Better sleep you so will get, And at morning wake more gay– Saith the children’s mother.

Beautiful stories wed with lovely… Like words and music:-what shall b… Of love and nobleness that might a… To express in action what this swe… The sweetness of a day of airs and…

‘Come, children, put away your toy… Roll up that kite’s long line; The day is done for girls and boys… Look, it is almost nine! Come, weary foot, and sleepy head,

Where the bud has never blown Who for scent is debtor? Where the spirit rests unknown Fatal is the letter. In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored,

I would I were an angel strong, An angel of the sun, hasting along… I would I were just come awake, A child outbursting from night’s d… Or lark whose inward, upward fate

Forth from the city, with the load That makes the trampling low, They walk along the dreary road That dust and ashes go. The other way, toward the gate

O Lord of life, thy quickening vo… Awakes my morning song! In gladsome words I would rejoice That I to thee belong. I see thy light, I feel thy wind;

It is no winter night comes down Upon our hearts, dear friends of o… But a May evening, softly brown, Whose wind is rather cold. We are not, like yon sad-eyed Wes…

When I look back upon my life nig… Nigh spent, although the stream as… I more of follies than of sins rep… Less for offence than Love’s shor… With self, O Father, leave me not…

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 pray you, all ye men who put you… In moulds and systems and well-tac… Holding that Nature lives from ye… In one continual round because she… Set me not down, I pray you, in t…

I cannot praise thee. By his inst… The master sits, and moves nor foo… For see the organ-pipes this, that… Leaning, o’erthrown, like wheat-st… I well could praise thee for a flo…

On the far horizon there Heaps of cloudy darkness rest; Though the wind is in the air There is stupor east and west. For the sky no change is making,