Where once he measured camphor, glycerine,
Quinine and potash, peppermint in bars,
And all the oils and essences so keen
That druggists keep in rows of stoppered jars—
Now, blender of strange drugs more voiatile,
The master pharmacist of joy and pain
Dispenses sadness tinctured with a smile
And laughter that dissolves in tears again.

O brave apothecary! You who knew
What dark and acid doses life prefers,
And yet with friendly face resolved to brew
These sparkling potions for your customers—
In each prescription your Physician writ

Brother , whence comest thou?
From beyond Dunai?
What heardest thou in Ukraine?

Nothing have I heard,
Nothing have I seen,
But horsemen on four sides.
The Russians have covered the mountain.

On that mountain a Turkish horse stands,
On the horse sits a Turk's young son.
In his right hand he holds a sword,
From his left blood flows.
. . . . . . .

On the rocky steeps a horse is standing;
It is neighing aloud that Love may succour;
It is pawing the earth in woe and anguish.

Beside the horse a soldier is lying;

The bashful Spring girl-shy begins
To show her art; a green web spins
To clothe the shivering tracery
Of every patient, pleading tree.

And on her wild bird-singing loom
She 'broiders bright the veil with bloom,
And girlish-proud, the happy trees
Flaunt their new dresses to the breeze.

Pray, pray for rain; thou may'st not know,
How man's weak prayer avails;
But pray, with earnest, trusting soul,
The prayer of faith prevails.

Pray, pray for rain; each morning lift
Thy prayer with humble mind,
That thou the longed-for gift may'st have,
The promised blessing find.

And pray, with earnest, humble prayer,
For every perfect gift;
To God in every time of need,
Thy trusting spirit lift.

He knows our needs before we ask,
Yet bids us toil and pray,
And ask of Him our daily bread
To give us day by day.

To drop among green bushes in the spring
Hid from the thrushes that above head sing
With mossy trunks of trees for couch & seat
Where near a pathway dreads approaching feet

O may I see thy face for without thee
The day returns but round no brightness pours
The light returns I see thy face again—

Roll thee in my Lowlan plaidie
Nestle cozey by my side
Love wi me and be my ladie
And we love on in world sae wide

Ro[ll] thee in my Tartan Plaidie
Cozey sit upon my knee
In thy Tartan silk sweet lady
Thy lovely form is sweet to see

Ro[ll] thee in my Tartan Plaidie
Let me gaze upon thy charms
Thou a bonny beauteous lady
Come unto thy Lovers arms

With thy ancles scarce a span
Thou an armful art sweet lady
Come thou better half o'man
Ro[ll] thee in my Tartan Pladie

By the Brides eyes, and by the teeming life
Of her green hopes, we charge ye, that no strife
(Farther then Gentlenes tends) gets place
Among ye, striving for her lace:
O doe not fall
Foule in these noble pastimes, lest ye call
Discord in, and so divide
The youthfull Bride-groom, and the fragrant Bride:
Which Love fore-fend; but spoken,
Be't to your praise, no peace was broken.

To bed, to bed, kind Turtles, now, and write
This the short'st day, and this the longest night;
But yet too short for you: 'tis we
Who count this night as long as three,
Lying alone,
Telling the Clock strike Ten, Eleven, Twelve, One.
Quickly, quickly then prepare;
And let the Young-men and the Bride-maids share
Your Garters; and their joynts
Encircle with the Bride-grooms Points.

What's that we see from far? the spring of day
Bloomed from the east, or fair enjewelled May
Blown out of April, or some new
Star filled with glory to our view,
Reaching at heaven,
To add a nobler planet to the seven?
Say, or do we not descry
Some goddess in a cloud of tiffany
To move, or rather the
Emergent Venus from the sea?

'Tis she! 'Tis she! or else some more divine
Enlightened substance; mark how from the shrine
Of holy saints she paces on,
Treading upon vermilion
And amber, spice-
ing the chafed air with fumes of Paradise.