#Americans #Women
We are the keepers of that steadfa… that guides people’s course and de… Not ours the skill directing over… the might beams that blaze the pat… Ours but the hands that, serving,…
The little dream she had forgot Oh, long and long ago, Came back across the April fields And touched her garment so (As might a wind-blown primrose cl…
I saw the old sea captain in his c… Shaved till his chin was pink, and… In a broadcloth suit and varnished… (I’d seen him last with a slicker… And it happened that I went home…
The kindliest thing God ever made… His hand of very healing laid Upon a fevered world, is shade. His glorious company of trees Throw out their mantles, and on th…
I never climb a high hill Or gaze across the lea, But, Oh, beyond the two of them, Beyond the height and blue of them… I’m looking for the sea.
Though other eyes were turned to h… He turned to look in mine; Though others filled the cup abrim… He might not taste the wine. I am so glad my eyes were first
ONE star for all she had, And in her heart One wound—yet is she glad For all its smart As they are glad who bear
April will come to the quiet town That I left long ago, Scattering primroses up and down’… Row upon happy row. (Oh, little green lane, will she c…
‘Black Sheep, Black Sheep, Have you any wool?’ ‘That I have, my Master, Three bags full.’ One is for the mother who prays fo…
God send thee peace, Oh, great un… A world away, I pray that thou ma… Softly as on the Well-Belovèd’s b… Where ever in her wistful dreams t… At dawn my prayer is all for thee,…
The burden that I bear would be n… Should I cry out against it; thou… The weary day with sound of my dis… It were my burden still. The burden that I bear may be no…
1. Melchior, Gaspar, Balthazar, Great gifts they bore and meet; White linen for His body fair And purple for His feet; And golden things—the joy of kings…
She came not into the Presence as… Crowned, white—robed and adoring,… She stood as a straight young sold… Who asks a boon of his captain in… She said: ‘Now have I stayed too…
Oh, Heart of a Hundred Sorrows, Whose pity is great therefore, The gift that thy children bring t… Is ever a sorrow more. Sure of thy dear compassion,
Mothers of men—the words are good… Pride in the very sound of them, s… Why is it their faces haunt me, wi… Ever some dear thing vanished and… Mothers of Men?