Upon a rock I sat-a mountain-side… Far, far forsaken of the old sea’s… A rock where ancient waters’ rise… Recoil and plunge, eddy, and oscil… Had worn and worn, while races liv…

Lawrence, what though the world be… And twilight cool thy potent day i… The sun, beneath the round earth s… All the night through, sleepless a… Oh, be thy spirit faithful as the…

Down a warm alley, early in the ye… Among the woods, with all the suns… And all the winds outside it, I b… To think that something gracious w… If anything of grace inhabit here,

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…

Lie down upon the ground, thou hop… Press thy face in the grass, and d… Dost feel the green globe whirl?… Climbeth she out of darkness to th… Which is her God; seven times she…

The croak of a raven hoar! A dog’s howl, kennel-tied! Loud shuts the carriage-door: The two are away on their ghastly… To Death’s salt shore!

Trust my father, saith the eldest-… I did trust him ere the earth bega… Not to know him is to be forlorn; Not to love him is-not to be man. He that knows him loves him altoge…

Father, I cry to thee for bread With hungred longing, eager prayer… Thou hear’st, and givest me instea… More hunger and a half-despair. 0 Lord, how long? My days decline…

January 26, 1885 Gordon, the self-refusing, Gordon, the lover of God, Gordon, the good part choosing, Welcome along the road!

King Cole he reigned in Aureoland… But the sceptre was seldom in his… Far oftener was there his golden c… He ate too much, but he drank all… To be called a king and to be a ki…

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,

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

Lord, what is man That thou art mindful of him! Though in creation’s van, Lord, what is man! He wills less than he can,

Chained is the Spring. The Night… Blows over the hard earth; Time is not more confused and cold… Nor keeps more wintry mirth. Yet blow, and roll the world about…

Greitna, father, that I’m gauin, For fu’ well ye ken the gaet; I’ the winter, corn ye’re sawin, I’ the hairst again ye hae’t. I’m gauin hame to see my mither;