Works

"Sleep, weary ones, while ye may --
Sleep, oh, sleep!"
Eugene Field.


Thro' May time blossoms, with whisper low,
The soft wind sang to the dead below:...

"Sleep, weary ones, while ye may,
Sleep, oh, sleep!"
Eugene Field.



Thro' May time blossoms, with whisper low,
The soft wind sang to the dead below:...

". . . with two other priests; the same night he died,
and was buried by the shores of the lake that bears his name."
Chronicle.


"Nay, grieve not that ye can no honour give...

". . . with two other priests; the same night he died,
and was buried by the shores of the lake that bears his name."
Chronicle.



"Nay, grieve not that ye can no honour give...

The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves
Her web of silence o'er the thankful song
Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.
...

The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves
Her web of silence o'er the thankful song
Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.
...

"Delicta juventutis et ignorantius ejus,
quoesumus ne memineris, Domine."



I left, to earth, a little maiden fair,
With locks of gold, and eyes that shamed the light;...

"Delicta juventutis et ignorantius ejus, quoesumus ne memineris, Domine."



I left, to earth, a little maiden fair,
With locks of gold, and eyes that shamed the light;...

"It fell on a day, that he went out to his father to the reapers.
And he said unto his father, My head, my head. And he said to a lad,
Carry him to his mother. And, he sat on her knees till noon,...

At the drowsy dusk when the shadows creep
From the golden west, where the sunbeams sleep,

An angel mused: "Is there good or ill
In the mad world's heart, since on Calvary's hill
...

At the drowsy dusk when the shadows creep
From the golden west, where the sunbeams sleep,

An angel mused: "Is there good or ill
In the mad world's heart, since on Calvary's hill
...

Ye have sung me your songs, ye have chanted your rimes
(I scorn your beguiling, O sea!)
Ye fondle me now, but to strike me betimes.
(A treacherous lover, the sea!)...

Ye have sung me your songs, ye have chanted your rimes
(I scorn your beguiling, O sea!)
Ye fondle me now, but to strike me betimes.
(A treacherous lover, the sea!)...