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Whitsunday

Here in the mountains, on this Pentecost,
The Whispers of the Holy Spirit come.
Nor in the distant city are they lost,
Amid the noises of my far-off home.

Here in the clear still air, as morning breaks,
And birds and trees and flowers adore the day,
In thousand thousand tongues the Spirit speaks,
As in one chorus of delight they say,—

“Love is the whole, one life of heart with heart,
Of mind with mind, and soul inspiring soul.
For those who love, there's no such word as ‘part.’
Love, live and love, for Love is aye the whole.”

Song. In the Islanders

I'll mount the cliffs, I'll watch the coast,
Anxious some welcome tidings soon to bear,
Nor let your fortitude be lost,
Confiding still in honest Yanko's care,

Though to my comrades I'm untrue,
Honour shall infidelity applaud,
And call, in charity to you,
My broken faith to them a pious fraud.

Ballad. In the Islanders

When Yanko dear fight far away,
Some token kind me send;
One branch of olive, for dat say
Me wish de battle end.
The poplar tremble as him go,
Say of dy life take care,
Me send no laurel, for me know
Of that him find him share.


II.

De ivy say my heart be true,
Me droop say willow tree,
De torn he say me sick for you,
De sun-flower tink of me.
Till last me go, weep wid the pine,
For fear poor Yanko dead;
He come, and I de myrtle twine,
In chaplet for him head.

Hymn 27

I.

The Prince of Peace is come,
And cloth'd himself in clay;
Whoever find him room,
He'll take their guilt away,
Ye souls distress
In him believe,
And you shall live
Forever blest.

II.

This is the slaughter'd Lamb,
Who freely spills his blood,
To bear the sinners flame,
And bring them home to GOD ;
Unbounded grace
To sinners giv'n,
And soon in heav'n
Immortal bliss.

III.

Sinners receive his love,
And let your souls rejoice,
A crown of life above,

Orra Moor

A SONG, alter'd .

I.

Stay, stay, O Sun! whose chearful Ray
Has drawn my Orra 's feet astray:
O! chase the Fogs — O! clear the Skies!
And guide my Orra , to my eyes .

II.

O! were I sure my Dear to view,
I'd climb the top of that tall Yew!
Aloft, in air , I'd quivering stand,
And round, and round, explore the land.

III.

Where, Orra M OOR ! where art thou stray'd?
What wood conceals my sleeping maid?
Torn by the thorns , enrag'd I'll tear

Babies Crying

I have heard them in the night —
The cry of their fear,
Because there is no light,
Because they do not hear
Familiar sounds and feel the familiar arm,
And they awake alone.
Yet they have never known
Danger or harm.
What is their dread? —
This dark about their bed?
But they are so lately come
Out of the dark womb
Where they were safely kept.
That blackness was good;
And the silence of that solitude
Wherein they slept
Was kind.
Where did they find
Knowledge of death?
Caution of darkness and cold?

Rain at Night

Are you awake? Do you hear the rain?
How rushingly it strikes upon the ground,
And on the roof, and the wet window-pane!
Sometimes I think it is a comfortable sound,
Making us feel how safe and snug we are:
Closing us off in this dark, away from the dark outside.
The rest of the world seems dim tonight, mysterious and far.
Oh, there is no world left! Only darkness, darkness stretching wide
And full of the blind rain's immeasurable fall!

How nothing must we seem unto this ancient thing!
How nothing unto the earth — and we so small!

Continuance

What will you find
In the depths of the wind,
What does it hold?
Fold on fold on flowing fold —
Clasp it, and your fingers press
Only a soft emptiness;
Only air is in your hand.
Yet this nothing may command
The purposes of men and seas,
Ordering them with a mighty ease;
With that same, that ancient power
That was born in time's first hour,
In the beginning of change and days.
But never its strength delays,
Or grows old, or will weary or rest;
Nor the years diminish its wild invisible zest.
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