English

The blessed Poster-girl leaned out
From a pinky-purple heaven;
One eye was red and one was green;
Her bang was cut uneven;
She had three fingers on her hand,
And the hairs on her head were seven.

Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,
No sunflowers did adorn;
But a heavy Turkish portiere
Was very neatly worn;
And the hat that lay along her back
Was yellow like canned corn.

Mery it is while sumer y-last
With fugheles song;
Oc now negheth windes blast
And weder strong.
Ey! ey! what this night is long!
And ich with wel michel wrong
Sorow and murne and fast.

1. Blessed Comforter Divine! Whose rays of heavenly
2. Thou! who with " still small voice, " Does stop the sinner's
love Amid our gloom and darkness shine, And
way, And bid the mourning saint rejoice, Though
point our souls above, And point our souls above;
earthly joys decay; Though earthly joys decay.
And point our souls above;
Though earthly joy decay.

3. Thou! whose inspiring breath
Can make the cloud of care,
And e'en the gloomy vale of death,
A smile of glory wear;
A smile of glory wear.

Would you understand
The language with no word,
The speech of brook and bird,
Of waves along the sand?

Would you make your own
The meaning of the leaves,
The song the silence weaves
Where little winds made moan?

Would you know how sweet
The falling of the rill,
The calling on the hill,—
All tunes the days repeat?

Neither alms nor art,
No toil, can help you hear;
The secret of the ear
Is in the open heart.

Black Jack David come ridin' through the woods,
Singin' so loud and merry
That the green hills all around him ring,
And he charmed the heart of a lady,
And he charmed the heart of a lady.

" How old are you, my pretty little miss,
How old are you, my lady? "
She answered him with a " Tee, hee, hee,
I'll be sixteen next summer. "

" Come, go with me, my pretty little miss,
Come, go with me, my lady;
I'll take you across the deep blue sea
Where you never shall want for money.

" O wha will lace my shoes sae small?
An' wha will glove my hand?
Or wha will lace my middle sae jimp
With my new made linen band?

" Wha will trim my yellow hair
With my new siller kame?
An' wha will father my young son
Till Lord Gregory comes hame? "

" Your father will lace your shoes sae small;
Your mother will glove your hand;
Your sister will lace your middle sae jimp
With your new made linen band;

" Your brother will trim your yellow hair
With a new made siller kame;

Bless Thou this year, O Lord!
Make rich its days
With health, and work, and prayer, and praise,
And helpful ministry
To needy folk.
Speak Thy soft word
In cloudy days;
Nor let us think ourselves forgot
When common lot
Of sorrow hems us round.
Let generous impulse shame the niggard dole
That dwarfs the soul.
May no one fail his share of work
Through selfish thought;
Each day fulfill Thy holy will
In yielded lives,
And still the tumult
Of desires
Debased.

A BLEND of mirth and sadness, smiles and tears;
A quaint knight-errant of the pioneers;
A homely hero born of star and sod;
A Peasant Prince; a Masterpiece of God.

B LAKE saw a treeful of angels at Peckham Rye,
And his hands could lay hold on the tiger's terrible heart.
Blake knew how deep is Hell, and Heaven how high,
And could build the universe from one tiny part.
Blake heard the asides of God, as with furrowed brow
He sifts the star-streams between the Then and the Now,
In vast infant sagacity brooding, an infant's grace
Shining serene on his simple, benignant face.

Blake was mad, they say, — and Space's Pandora-box
Loosed its wonders upon him — devils, but angels indeed.

Blacken thy heavens, Jove,
With thunder-clouds,
And exercise thee, like a boy
Who thistles crops,
With smiting oaks and mountain-tops
Yet must leave me standing
My own firm Earth;
Must leave my cottage, which thou didst not build,
And my warm hearth,
Whose cheerful glow
Thou enviest me.

I know naught more pitiful
Under the sun than you, Gods!
Ye nourish scantily,
With altar-taxes
And with cold lip-service,
This your majesty; —
Would perish, were not
Children and beggars