Works

Make me a grave where'er you will,
In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill;
Make it among earth's humblest graves,
But not in a land where men are slaves.

I could not rest if around my grave...

The stamp of Scotland is on his face,
But he sailed to the South a lad,
And he does not think of the black bleak hills
And the bitter hard youth he had;
He thinks of a nearer and dearer past...

Sweet resting place! that long hath been
A boon Elysian 'mid the din
Of city life, 'mid city smoke;
Where weary ones who toil and spin
Have turned aside as to an inn
Whose swinging sign a welcome spoke;...

After I got religion and steadied down
They gave me a job in the canning works,
And every morning I had to fill
The tank in the yard with gasoline,
That fed the blow-fires in the sheds...

But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance:
They howl and writhe in shoals of torment, in fierce flames consuming,
In chains of iron and in dungeons circled with ceaseless fires,...

Tune - "The winter of life."



I.

But lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoiced the day;
Thro' gentle showers and laughing flowers,
In double pride were gay:...

I know how fire burns,
How from the wrangling fumes
Rose and amber blooms,
And slowly dies.

Nothing's so swift as fire,
There's nothing alive so fierce.
The lifted lances pierce,...

The April night is still and sweet
With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
But not to me.

My peace is hidden in his breast
Where I shall never be;...

The year has but one June, dear friend;
The year has but one June;
And when that perfect month doth end,
The robin's song, though loud, though long,
Seems never quite in tune.
...

But outer Space,
At least this far,
For all the fuss
Of the populace
Stays more popular
Than populous

Buttercups and daisies growing everywhere,
In the field of clover, on the hillside fair,
And in lovely valley, tilled with greatest care.

Naught but weeds and rubbish, in the farmer's eyes,...

Eyes aloft, over dangerous places,
The children follow the butterflies,
And, in the sweat of their upturned faces,
Slash with a net at the empty skies.

So it goes they fall amid brambles,...

All upstarts, insolent in place,
Remind us of their vulgar race.

A butterfly, but born one morning,
Sat on a rose, the rosebud scorning.
His wings of azure, jet, and gold,...

May is the month for Buttermilk! A doctor once tell'd me it wor worth a guinea a pint; he sed it licked cod liver oil, castor oil; or paraffin oil. Castor oil, he said, war varry gooid for ther bowels, cod liver oil for ther li...

"Ho! Master of the wondrous art!
Instruct me in fair archery,
And buy for aye,--a grateful heart
That will not grudge to give thy fee."
Thus spoke a lad with kindling eyes,...

But what's the use of writing 'bush',
Though editors demand it,
For city folk, and farming folk,
Can never understand it.
They're blind to what the bushman sees
The best with eyes shut tightest,...

But who shall see the glorious day
When, throned on Zion's brow,
The LORD shall rend that veil away
Which hides the nations now?[1]
When earth no more beneath the fear
Of this rebuke shall lie;[2]...

A soldier and a sailor,
A tinker and a tailor,
Had once a doubtful strife, sir,
To make a maid a wife, sir,
Whose name was Buxom Joan.
For now the time was ended,
When she no more intended...

From Deutschland I come with my light wares all laden,
To dear happy England in summer's gay bloom;
Then listen, fair lady, and young pretty m'dchen,
Come buy of the wandering Baierin a broom;...

Buz, Buz, Buz--says the Great buzzing Bee.
Go away butterfly--this flower is for me.
Why? Why? Why? says the little butterfly,
If you may sit on this flower, why may'nt I?