On Her Marriage As those who hear a sweet bird sin… And love each song it sings the be… Grieve when they see it taking win… And flying to another nest:

The life of earth, how full of pai… Which greets us on our day of birt… Nor leaves us while we yet retain The life of earth. There is a shadow on our mirth,

Weak soul, by sense still led astr… Why wilt thou parley with the foe? He seeks to work thine overthrow, And thou, poor fool! dost point th… Hast thou forgotten many a day,

Would you like to see a city given… Soul and body, to a tyrannising ga… If you would, there’s little need… For St. Andrews is the abject cit… It is surely quite superfluous to…

The voice that sings across the ni… Of long forgotten days and things, Is there an ear to hear aright The voice that sings? It is as when a curfew rings

Here, where the thoroughfares meet… Of ninety degrees (this angle is r… You may hear the loafers that jest… Through the sun-lit day and the la… Though day be dreary and night be…

Two old St. Andrews men, after a separation of nearly thirty years, meet by chance at a wayside inn. They interchange experiences; and at length one of them, who is an admirer of Mr. Sw...

No gift I bring but worship, and… Which all must bear to lovely soul… Those lights, that, when all else… Stars in the night, to lift our ey… To lift our eyes and hearts, and m…

Last Sunday night I read the sadd… Of the unanswered love of fair El… The 'faith unfaithful’ and the joy… Of Lancelot, ‘groaning in remorse… I thought of all those nights in w…

The rain had fallen, the Poet aro… He passed through the doorway into… A strong wind lifted his hat from… And he uttered some words that wer… And then he started to follow the…

I loved a little maiden In the golden years gone by; She lived in a mill, as they all d… (There is doubtless a reason why). But she faded in the autumn

Early on Christmas Day, Love, as awake I lay, And heard the Christmas bells rin… My heart stole through the gloom Into your silent room,

The lady stood at the station bar, (Three currants in a bun) And oh she was proud, as ladies ar… (And the bun was baked a week ago.… For a weekly wage she was standing…

Golden dream of summer morn, By a well-remembered stream In the land where I was born, Golden dream! Ripples, by the glancing beam

Till the tread of marching feet Through the quiet grass-grown stre… Of the little town shall come, Soldier, rest awhile at home. While the banners idly hang,