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.

I.-BY THE CRADLE. Close her eyes: she must not peep! Let her little puds go slack; Slide away far into sleep: Sis will watch till she comes back…

In the ancient house of ages, See, they cannot rest! With a hope, which awe assuages, Tremble all the blest. For the son and heir eternal,

THOU art of this world, Christ.… Thou know’st our evens, our morns,… How moons, and hearts, and seasons… How we grow weary plodding on the… Of future joy how present pain ber…

The miser lay on his lonely bed; Life’s candle was burning dim. His heart in an iron chest was hid Under heaps of gold and an iron li… And whether it were alive or dead

My little boy, with smooth, fair c… And dreamy, large, brown eyes, Not often, little wisehead, speaks… But hearing, weighs and tries. ‘God is not only in the sky,’

My Lily snatches not my gift; Glad is she to be fed, But to her mouth she will not lift The piece of broken bread, Till on my lips, unerring, swift,

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…

I have only one foot, but thousand… My one foot stands well, but never… I’ve a good many arms, if you coun… But hundreds of fingers, large and… From the ends of my fingers my bea…

Night, with her power to silence d… Filled up my lonely room, Quenching all sounds but one that… Beyond her passing doom, Where in his shed a workman gay

Great-hearted child, thy very bein… The Son, Who know’st the hearts of all us p… For who is prodigal but he who has… Far from the true to heart it with…

‘And yet it moves!’ Ah, Truth, wh… When all for thee they racked each… Wert thou in heaven, and busy with… When those poor hands convulsed th… Art thou a phantom that deceives!…

Of the poor bird that cannot fly Kindly you think and mournfully; For prisoners and for exiles all You let the tears of pity fall; And very true the grief should be

Lost the little one roams about, Pathway or shelter none can find; Blinking stars are coming out; No one is moving but the wind; It is no use to cry or shout,

The infant lies in blessed ease Upon his mother’s breast; No storm, no dark, the baby sees Invade his heaven of rest. He nothing knows of change or deat…