Outbound, your bark awaits you. Were I one Whose prayer availeth much, my wish should be Your favoring trad-wind and consenting sea. By sail or steed was never love outrun,...
March is slain; the keen winds fly; Nothing more is thine to do; April kisses thee good-bye; Thou must haste and follow too; Silent friend that guarded well Withered things to make us glad,...
Thy plan is best, though it may not agree With my conceptions of my needs and rights, And faith may fail to scale its azure heights; Yet still I trust, and leave my cause with Thee. ...
God's present everywhere, but most of all Present by union hypostatical: God, He is there, where's nothing else, schools say, And nothing else is there where He's away.
God's evident, and may be said to be Present with just men, to the verity; But with the wicked if He doth comply, 'Tis, as St. Bernard saith, but seemingly.
If all transgressions here should have their pay, What need there then be of a reckoning day? If God should punish no sin here of men, His providence who would not question then?
God doth not promise here to man that He Will free him quickly from his misery; But in His own time, and when He thinks fit, Then He will give a happy end to it.
O glad sun, creeping through the casement wide, A million blossoms have you kissed since morn, But none so fair as this one at my side - Touch soft the bit of love, the babe new born. ...
Upon the plain of Dura stood an image great and high, With golden forehead broad and bright beneath the morning sky; All regal in its majesty and kingly in its mien,...
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough! Thy winds, thy wide grey skies! Thy mists, that roll and rise! Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag...
Harry Wilmans! You who fell in a swamp Near Manila, following the flag You were not wounded by the greatness of a dream, Or destroyed by ineffectual work, Or driven to madness by Satanic snags;...
When men exert their utmost pow'rs, To while away the tedious hours, With soothing Flatt'ry's art, When ev'ry art and work well skill'd, And ev'ry look with poison fill'd, Assail a woman's heart, ...
Go forth to the Mount; bring the olive-branch home,[1] And rejoice; for the day of our freedom is come! From that time,[2] when the moon upon Ajalon's vale,...
The moving sun-shapes on the spray, The sparkles where the brook was flowing, Pink faces, plightings, moonlit May, These were the things we wished would stay; But they were going.