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…

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,

Summer is come again. The sun is… And the soft wind is breathing. A… Is sparkling in thine eyes, and in… My soul is shining. Come; our day… Shall be to revel in unlikely thin…

From out a windy cleft there comes… Of eyes unearthly, which go to and… Upon the people’s tumult, for belo… The nations smite each other: no a… Troubles their liquid rolling, or…

Comes there, O Earth, no breathin… No pause upon thy many-chequered l… Now resting on my bed with listles… I mourn thee resting not. Continu… Hear I the plashing borders of th…

A little bird sat on the edge of h… Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as… Day-long she had worked almost wit… And had filled every one of their… Her own she had filled just over-f…

The fact which suggested this poem… Blue sky above, blue sea below, Far off, the old Nile’s mouth, ’Twas a blue world, wherein did bl… A soft wind from the south.

When thy heart, love-filled, grows… And eternal bliss looks nearer, Ask thy heart, nor show it favour, Is the gift or giver dearer? Love, love on; love higher, deeper…

To My Father Take of the first fruits, father,… Wrapped in the fresh leaves of my… Late waked for early gifts ill und… Claiming in all my harvests rightf…

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,…

The stars are all watching; God’s angel is catching At thy skirts in the darkness deep… Gold hinges grating, The mighty dead waiting,

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

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.

Alas, how easily things go wrong! A sigh too much, a kiss too long, And there follows a mist and weepi… And life is never the same again. Alas, how hardly things go right!

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…