Thirsting for a living spring,
Seeking for a higher home,
Resting where our souls must cling,
Trusting, hoping, Lord, we come.

Glorious hopes our spirits fill,
When we feel that thou art near:
Father, then our fears are still,
Then the soul's bright end is clear.

Life's hard conflict we would win,
Read the meaning of life's frown;
Change the thorn-bound wreath of sin
For the spirit's starry crown.

Make us beautiful within
By thy Spirit's holy light;
Guard us when our faith burns dim,
Father of all love and might!

So you rode from the range where your brothers select,
Through the ghostly, grey Bush in the dawn—
You rode slowly at first, lest her heart should suspect
That you were so glad to be gone;
You had scarcely the courage to glance back at her
By the homestead receding from view,
And you breathed with relief as you rounded the spur,
For the world was a wide world to you.
Grey eyes that grow sadder than sunset or rain,
Fond heart that is ever more true,
Firm faith that grows firmer for watching in vain—
She'll wait by the slip-rails for you.

O the wild black swans fly westward still,
While the sun goes down in glory —
And away o'er lonely plain and hill
Still runs the same old story:
The sheoaks sigh it all day long —
It is safe in the Big Scrub's keeping —
'Tis the butcher-birds' and the bell-birds' song
In the gum where — Unknown — lies sleeping —
(It is heard in the chat of the soldier-birds
O'er the grave where — Unknown — lies sleeping.)

Ah! the Bushmen knew not his name or land,
Or the shame that had sent him here —

TO FAUSTA

Joy comes and goes, hope ebbs and flows
  Like the wave;
Change doth unknit the tranquil strength of men.
 Love lends life a little grace,
 A few sad smiles; and then,
 Both are laid in one cold place,
  In the grave.

Dreams dawn and fly, friends smile and die
  Like spring flowers;
Our vaunted life is one long funeral.
 Men dig graves with bitter tears
 For their dead hopes; and all,
 Mazed with doubts and sick with fears,
  Count the hours.

We count the hours! These dreams of ours,
  False and hollow,

— O I dreamt I shore in a shearin' shed, and it was a dream of joy,
For every one of the rouseabouts was a girl dressed up as a boy —
Dressed up like a page in a pantomime, and the prettiest ever seen —
They had flaxen hair, they had coal-black hair — and every shade between. —

— There was short, plump girls, there was tall, slim girls, and the handsomest ever seen —
They was four-foot-five, they was six-foot high, and every size between. —

— The shed was cooled by electric fans that was over every shoot;

DOUGLAS, ISLE OF MAN

Who taught this pleading to unpractised eyes?
Who hid such import in an infant's gloom?
Who lent thee, child, this meditative guise?
Who mass'd, round that slight brow, these clouds of doom?

Lo! sails that gleam a moment and are gone;
The swinging waters, and the cluster'd pier.
Not idly Earth and Ocean labour on,
Nor idly do these sea-birds hover near.

But thou, whom superfluity of joy
Wafts not from thine own thoughts, nor longings vain,
Nor weariness, the full-fed soul's annoy—

Silent she stood before me, in the light
And majesty of beauty; and her eye
Was teeming with the visions of her soul; —
She stood before me in a veil of white,
The image of her bosom's purity,
And loveliness enveloped her, as bright
As when, at set of sun, the clouds unroll,
Pavilioning the dusky throne of night.
There is a spirit in the kindling glance
Of pure and lofty beauty, which doth quell
Each darker passion; and as heroes fell
Before the terror of Minerva's lance,
So beauty, armed with virtue, bows the soul

Breathe on me, Breath of God!
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what thou dost love,
And do what thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Until my heart is pure,
Until with thee I will one will
To do and to endure!

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Blend all my soul with thine,
Until this earthly part of me
Glows with thy fire divine!

Breathe on me, Breath of God!
So shall I never die,
But live with thee the perfect life
Of thine eternity.

The light appears, the light appears!
The light is good,
The sparrow is on the tree,
The hen is on the perch,
The sleep of lazymen is a year,
Workman, rise and commence thy work!

The gates of heaven are opened,
The throne of gold was erected,
Christ was sitting on it,
The Illuminator was standing,
He had taken the golden pen,
And wrote great and small.
Sinners were weeping,
The just were playing.

Come, thou Almighty Will!
Our fainting bosoms fill
With thy great power;
Strength of our good intents,
Our tempted hour's Defence,
Calm of faith's confidence,
Come, in this hour!

Come, thou most tender Love!
Within our spirits move,
Their sweetest guest;
Extinguish passion's fire,
Exalt each low desire,
To deeds of love inspire,
Quickener and Rest!

Come, Light serene and still!
Our darkened spirits fill
With thy clear day;
Guide of the feeble sight,
Star of our darkest night,