Thin thin threads of mist on dewy fingers twining
Weave a veil of dappled gauze to shade my babe and me.
Deep deep Love, within thine own abyss abiding,
Pour Thyself abroad, O Lord, on earth and air and sea;
Worn weary hearts within Thy holy temple hiding,
Shield from sorrow, sin, and shame my helpless babe and me.
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Welcome, wild Northeaster!
Odes to every zephyr;Ne’er a verse to thee.Welcome, black Northeaster!O’er the German foam;O’er the Danish moorlands,From thy frozen home.Tired are we of summer,Tired of gaudy glare,Showers soft and steaming,Hot and breathless air.Tired of listless dreaming,Through the lazy day–Jovial wind of winterTurn us out to play!Sweep the golden reed-beds;Crisp the lazy dike;Hunger into madnessEvery plunging pike.Fill…
Wild wild wind, wilt thou never cease thy sighing?
Cold cold church, in thy death sleep lying,The Lent is past, thy Passion here, but not thine Easter-day.Peace, faint heart, though the night be dark and sighing;Rest, fair corpse, where thy Lord himself hath lain.Weep, dear Lord, above thy bride low lying;Thy tears shall wake her frozen limbs to life and health again.
The world goes up and the world goes down,
And yesterday’s sneer and yesterday’s frownCan never come over again,Sweet wife:No, never come over again.For woman is warm though man be cold,And the night will hallow the day;Till the heart which at even was weary and oldCan rise in the morning gay,Sweet wife;To its work in the morning gay.Andernach, 1851.
Dreary East winds howling o’er us;
Mire and ice and snow and sleet;Aching backs and frozen feet;Knees which reel as marches quicken,Ranks which thin as corpses thicken;While with carrion birds we eat,Calling puddle-water sweet,As we pledge the health of our general, who fares as rough as we:What can daunt us, what can turn us, led to death by such as he?Eversley,…
Early in spring time, on raw and windy mornings,
‘Ah dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily?Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun.’Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless evenings,Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing-‘Ah that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily;Sad, sad, to think that the year…
(Written for music to be sung at a parish industrial exhibition)
Rises as her Maker rose.Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,Burst at last from winter snows.Earth with heaven above rejoices;Fields and gardens hail the spring;Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices,While the wild birds build and sing.You, to whom your Maker grantedPowers to those sweet birds unknown,Use the craft by God implanted;Use the reason not your own.Here,…