On An Engraving of Scheffer’s Christus Consolator What human form is this? what form… And who are these that gaze upon h… Mild, beautiful, and full of heave…

Who follows Jesus shall not walk In darksome road with danger rife; But in his heart the Truth will t… And on his way will shine the Lif… So, on the story we must pore

The times are changed, and gone th… When the high heavenly land, Though unbeheld, quite near them l… And men could understand. The dead yet find it, who, when he…

I walked all night: the darkness d… Around me fell a mist, a weary rai… Enduring long. At length the dawn… A temple’s front, high-lifted from… Closed were the lofty doors that l…

‘O lat me in, my bonny lass! It’s a lang road ower the hill, And the flauchterin snaw begud to… On the brig ayont the mill!’ ‘Here’s nae change-hoose, John Mu…

I said, I will arise and work som… Nor be content with growth, but ca… A life around me, clear as yes fro… That to my restless hand some rest… And give a vital power to Action’…

Forth to his study the sculptor go… In a mood of lofty mirth: ‘Now shall the tongues of my carpi… Confess what my art is worth! In my brain last night the vision…

We doubt the word that tells us:… And ye shall have your prayer; We turn our thoughts as to a task, With will constrained and rare. And yet we have; these scanty pray…

The thousand streets of London gr… Repel all country sights; But bar not winds upon their way, Nor quench the scent of new-mown h… In depth of summer nights.

Waking in the night to pray, Sleeping when the answer comes, Foolish are we even at play– Tearfully we beat our drums! Cast the good dry bread away,

I follow, tottering, in the funera… That bears my body to the welcomin… As those I mourn not, that entomb… But smile as those that lay aside… To me it is a thing of poor disdai…

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.

I cannot write old verses here, Dead things a thousand years away, When all the life of the young yea… Is in the summer day. The roses make the world so sweet,

In God alone, the perfect end, Wilt thou find thyself or friend.

Methought I floated sightless, no… That I had ears until I heard the… As of a mighty man in agony: ‘How long, Lord, shall I lie thus… The arrows of thy lightning throug…