« ZurückWeiter »
THE MAY QUEEN.
. 20. THE MAY QUEEN.
You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow ’ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year ; Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o'
the May. There's many a black black eye, they say, but none so bright
as mine; There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline; But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say, So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o'
the May. I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, If you do not call me loud, when the day begins to break : But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands
gay, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o'
the May. Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen ; For the shepherd lads on every side ’ill come from far away, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen
o the May. The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers, And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo
flowers, And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and
hollows gray, And I'm to be Queen o’ the May, mother, l'ın to be Queen
o the May. The night-winds comeand go, mother, upon the meadow-grass, And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pase; There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the live-long day, And I'ın to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o'
THE DIVINE IMAGE.
All the valley, diother, 'ill be fresh and green and still,
the May. So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother
dear; To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year ; To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o'the May.
21. THE DIVINE IMAGE.
All pray in their distress;
Return their thankfulness.
Is God, our Father dear;
Is man, His child and care.
Pity a human face,
And Peace, the Human dress.
That prays in his distress,
22. BABY MAY. CHEEKS as soft as July peaches, Lips, whose dewy scarlet teaches Poppies paleness-round large eyes, Ever great with new surprise, Minutes filled with shadeless gladness, Minutes just as brimmed with sadness, Happy smiles and wailing cries, Crows and laughs and tearful eyes, Lights and shadows swifter born Than oñ wind-swept Autumn corn, Ever some new tiny notion Making every limb all motionCatchings up of legs and arms, Throwings back, and small alarms, Clutching fingers-straightening jerks, Twining feet, whose each toe works, Kickings up, and straining risings, Mother's ever new surprişings, Hands all wants and looks all wonder At all things the heavens under, Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings That have more of love than loving, Mischiefs done with such a winning Archness, that we prize such sinning, Breakings-dire of plates and glasses, Graspings small at all that passes, Pullings off of all that's able To be caught from tray or table; Silences-small meditations, Deep as thoughts of cares for nations, Breaking into wisest speeches In a tongue that nothing teaches,
All the thoughts of whose possessing
23. EASTER VERSES.
WRITTEN UNDER BEREAVEMENT.
She is dead-our hearts are riven!
In counsel wise, so kindly given.
Her whose prayers for us have striven :
Than e'er on earth shall meet in Heaven.'
She hath 'scaped the body's prison,
24. CHRISTMAS VERSES. CHRIST is born, our Saviour King! :
Christ is born, a sufføring brother; “ Glory to God !" the angels sing:
Christ is born of Virgin mother.
Then brightly shine, thou wond'rous star,
Heralding the glorious morn,
To where he lies so lowly born.
So lowly born, tho' Lord of all;
By men despised, of mean estate ;
Earth’s bitter scorn, and hell's fierce hate!
All borne by thee for sinful men;
O, wond'rous grace of love divine!
25. BIRD IN A CAGE. Oh! who would keep a little bird confined, When cowslip bells are nodding in the wind, When every hedge as with “good-morrow” rings, And heard from wood to wood the blackbird sings ? Oh, who would keep a little bird confined In his cold wiry prison? Let him fly, And hear him sing, “How sweet is liberty!"