Lord, I’m an auld man, An’ I’m deein! An’ do what I can I canna help bein Some feart at the thoucht!

There is not any weed but hath its… There is not any pool but hath its… And black and muddy though the wat… We may not miss the glory of a flo… And winter moons will give them ma…

I envy the tree-tops that shake so… In winds that fill them full of he… I envy every little cloud that sha… With unseen angels evening in the… I envy most the youngest stars tha…

If thou hadst been a sculptor, wha… Of forms divine had thenceforth fi… Methinks I see thee, glorious wor… Striking a marble window through b… Thy face’s reflex on the coming fa…

Love, the baby, Crept abroad to pluck a flower: One said, Yes, sir; one said, May… One said, Wait the hour. Love, the boy,

Oh that men would praise the Lord For his goodness unto men! Forth he sends his saving word, —Oh that men would praise the Lor… And from shades of death abhorred

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…

In the air why such a ringing? On the earth why such a droning? In the air the lark is singing; On the earth the wind is moaning. ‘I am blest, in sunlight swinging!…

A gentle wind, of western birth On some far summer sea, Wakes daisies in the wintry earth, Wakes hopes in wintry me. The sun is low; the paths are wet,

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,

O wind of God, that blowest in th… Blow, blow and wake the gentle spr… Blow, swifter blow, a strong warm… Till all the flowers with eyes com… Blow till the fruit hangs red on e…

Oh holy Sabbath bells, Ye have a pleasant voice! Through all the land your music sw… And man with one commandment tells To rest and to rejoice.

‘They have no more wine!’ she said… But they had enough of bread; And the vessels by the door Held for thirst a plenteous store: Yes,

ALAS, my tent! see through it a… Moaning, poor Fancy’s doves are s… I sit alone, a sorrow half asleep, My consciousness the blackness all… No pilgrim I, a homeless wanderer…

O Mother Earth, I have a fear Which I would tell to thee– Softly and gently in thine ear When the moon and we are three. Thy grass and flowers are beautifu…