I.-THIS SIDE AN’ THAT. The rich man sat in his father’s s… Purple an’ linen, an’ a’thing fine… The puir man lay at his yett i’ th… Sairs an’ tatters, an’ weary pine!

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…

I know not what among the grass th… Thy nature, nor thy substance, fai… Nor what to other eyes thou hast o… To send thine image through them t… But when I push the frosty leaves…

FROM thine, as then, the healing… Into our hearts-that is the Fathe… From heart to heart it sinks, it s… From these that know thee still in… Here is my heart-from thine, Lord…

Star high, Baby low: ‘Twixt the two Wise men go; Find the baby,

Ane by ane they gang awa; The getherer gethers grit and sma’… Ane by ane maks ane and a’! Aye whan ane sets doon the cup Ane ahint maun tak it up:

Lord, I have laid my heart upon t… But cannot get the wood to burn; It hardly flares ere it begins to… And to the dark return. Old sap, or night-fallen dew, make…

When things are holding wonted pac… In wonted paths, without a trace Or hint of neighbouring wonder, Sometimes, from other realms, a to… A scent, a vision, swift, alone,

O Lord, I cannot but believe The birds do sing thy praises then… And they are lying seed-sown land… Their little bosoms breeding songs… If thou hadst finished me, O Lord…

See how the storm of life ascends Up through the shadow of the world… Beyond our gaze the line extends, Like wreaths of vapour tempest-hur… Grasp tighter, brother, lest the s…

Be welcome, year! with corn and si… Make poor the body, but make rich… What man that bears his sheaves, g… Will heed the paint rubbed from hi… Nor leave behind thy fears and hol…

Dead, why defend thee, who in life For thy worst foe hadst died; Who, thy own name a word of strife… Didst silent stand aside? Grand in forgiveness, what to thee

‘Grant, Lord, her prayer, and let… She crieth after us.’ Nay, to the dogs ye cast it so; Serve not a woman thus. Their pride, by condescension fed,

Is there a secret Joy, that may n… For every flower that ends its lit… For every child that groweth up to… For every captive bird a cage doth… For every aching eye that went to…

When God’s own child came down to… High heaven was very glad; The angels sang for holy mirth; Not God himself was sad! Shall we, when ours goes homeward,…