If thou art tempted by a thought o… Crave not too soon for victory, no… Thou art a coward if thy safety se… To spring too little from a righte… For there is nightmare on thee, no…

I love thy skies, thy sunny mists, Thy fields, thy mountains hoar, Thy wind that bloweth where it lis… Thy will, I love it more. I love thy hidden truth to seek

From the German of Dessler . O Lord, how happy is the time When in thy love I rest! When from my weariness I climb

I have a puppet-jointed child, She’s but three half-years old; Through lawless hair her eyes glea… With looks both shy and bold. Like little imps, her tiny hands

The brother knew well the castle o… Every closet, each outlook fair, Every turret and bartizan bold, Every chamber, garnished or bare. The brother was out in the heavenl…

‘Shew us the Father.’ Chiming sta… And lives that fit the worlds, and… A Thought that holds them up reve… A Wisdom we have been made wise t… And, looking out from sweetest Na…

A clock aeonian, steady and tall, With its back to creation’s flamin… Stands at the foot of a dim, wide… Swing, swang, its pendulum goes, Swing-swang-here-there!

Heaven and the sea attend the dyin… And in their sadness overflow and… Faint gold, and windy blue, and gr… Far out amid them my pale soul I… For, as they mingle, so mix life a…

‘Traveller, what lies over the hil… Traveller, tell to me: Tip-toe-high on the window-sill Over I cannot see.’ ‘My child, a valley green lies the…

Ah, holy midnight of the soul, When stars alone are high; When winds are resting at their go… And sea-waves only sigh! Ambition faints from out the will;

What life it is, and how that all… With outward maker’s force, or lik… Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia To L.P.M.D.

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…

Christmas-Days are still in store… Will they change-steal faded hithe… Or come fresh as heretofore, Summering all our winter weather? Surely they will keep their bloom

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

Father, in the dark I lay, Thirsting for the light, Helpless, but for hope alway In thy father-might. Out of darkness came the morn,