English

This lost, lost world for Jesus!
'Twas heav'n he put aside;
On earth he walked incarnate,
Was scourged and crucified,
Then let the King Imanuel,
Who left for us a throne,
Return and take possession,
Return and claim his own.
This lost, lost world for Jesus!
From where the rising sun
Lights up the orient mankind
To where his course is run;
He is the world's Redeemer,
Let all beneath the skies
Speak back to him, one language
In hymns of praise arise.
This lost, lost world for Jesus!

Midst the scant foliage of an old, gnarled tree
Outside my door,
The birds are joyous as spring birds can be,
And there outpour
A longer sweetness than the rich in green
Hear from their choristers less often seen.

When we are old, with graces almost gone;
Like birds in spring
Within us, still, may fresh young hopes sing on
With resting wing;
And in full sunshine of our second May
The happy children love to sing and play!

The wind, stirring in the dark foliage, brings
Songs to me of the wakeful nightingale;
At intervals a stranger music rings.
Whence are these voices that now light,
Now deeply echo from the night
And now of their own beauty fail?

The apple bough of white
That at my open window rocks and sways,
Against the pane its dewy blossom lays,
Shines magically in the blanchèd light,
A sabbath radiance covers all the ways;
My vision waxes vast and wide:

Oh, there arises now a solemn tide

“That humble, simple duty of the day
—Perform,” he bids; “ask not if small or great:
Serve in thy post; be faithful and obey;
—Who serves her truly, sometimes serves the State.”

“That humble, simple duty of the day
Perform,” he bids; “ask not if small or great:
Serve in thy post; be faithful and obey;
Who serves her truly, sometimes serves the State.”

One heart
Which has been obdurate
From black hair
Until white
Now I shall never melt!

Two shall be born the whole wide world apart;
And speak in different tongues, and have no thought
Each of the other's being, and no heed;
And these o'er unknown seas to unknown lands
Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death,
And all unconsciously shape every act
And bend each wandering step to this one end,—
That, one day, out of darkness, they shall meet
And read life's meaning in each other's eyes.
And two shall walk some narrow way of life
So nearly side by side, that should one turn
Ever so little space to left or right

Though Scotland's hills be far awa',
And her glens, where the clear silver burnies row,
I see them and hear her wild breezes blaw,
O'er the moors where the blue-bells and heather grow.

Oh, hame is sweet!—but thae hames o' thine
Are the kindliest far that the sun doth see;
And, though far awa' I have biggit mine,
As my mother's name they are dear to me!

I love the tale, o' thy glories auld,
Which thy shepherds tell on the mountain side;
Of thy martyrs true and thy warriors bauld,

CLXXXIII

Pain of all pain, the most grievous pain
Is to love heartily and cannot be loved again.

Love with unkindness is causer of heaviness,
Of inward sorrow and sighs painful.
Whereas I love is no redress
To no manner of pastime: the sprites so dull
With privy mournings and looks rueful,
The body all wearish, the colour pale and wan,
More like a ghost than like a living man

When Cupido hath inflamed the heart's desires
To love there as is disdain;
Of good or ill the mind oblivious,

When Nature dreamt of making bores,
She formed a brace of Phillimores;
Sooner than make a Phillimost,
Nature herself would yield the ghost.

As o'er the cradle of her Son
The blessèd Mary hung,
And chanted to the Anointed One
The psalms that David sung,

What joy her bosom must have known,
As, with a sweet surprise,
She marked the boundless love that shone
Within his infant eyes.

But deeper was her joy to hear,
Even in his ripening youth,
And treasure up, from year to year,
His words of grace and truth.

Oh, may we keep his words like her
In all their life and power,
And to the law of love refer
The acts of every hour.