Weave him a coffin of rush,
Dig him a grave where the soft mosses grow,
Raise him a tombstone of snow.
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What does the bee do?
And what does Father do?Bring home money.And what does Mother do?Lay out the money.And what does baby do?Eat up the honey.
You must not call me Maggie, you must not call me Dear,
And if there comes a babe, as there may some happy year,‘Twill be little lord or lady at my knee.Oh, but what ails you, my sailor cousin Phil,That you shake and turn white like a cockcrow ghost?You’re as white as I turned once down by the mill,When one told me you and ship and crew…
Lord Jesus, who would think that I am Thine?
Who sees me ready to turn back or sink,That Thou art mine?I cannot hold Thee fast though Thou art mine:Hold Thou me fast,So earth shall know at last and heaven at lastThat I am Thine.
The sweetest blossoms die.
Unto the church to praise and pray,And crossing the green churchyard thoughtfully,I saw how on the graves the flowersShed their fresh leaves in showers,And how their perfume rose up to the skyBefore it passed away.The youngest blossoms die.They die, and fall and nourish the rich earthFrom which they lately had their birth;Sweet life, but sweeter…
I will accept thy will to do and be,
Thy will at least to love, that burns withinAnd thirsteth after Me:So will I render fruitful, blessing still,The germs and small beginnings in thy heart,Because thy will cleaves to the better part.—Alas, I cannot will.Dost not thou will, poor soul? Yet I receiveThe inner unseen longings of the soul,I guide them turning towards Me; I…
A toadstool comes up in a night, –
An oak grows on a hundred years,But then it is an oak.