TITYRUS.
O Meliboeus, a god for us this leisure created,
For he will be unto me a god forever; his altar
Oftentimes shall imbue a tender lamb from our sheepfolds.
He, my heifers to wander at large, and myself, as thou seest,
On my rustic reed to play what I will, hath permitted.

Sonnet

© Hartley Coleridge

If I have sinned in act, I may repent;

If I have erred in thought, I may disclaim

The Bag

© George Herbert

Away despair; my gracious Lord doth heare,
Though windes and waves assault my keel,
He doth preserve it: he doth steer,
Ev'n when the boat seems most to reel.
Storms are the triumph of his art:
Well may he close his eyes, but not his heart.

The Resting-Place

© Ada Cambridge

Calmly the Paschal moonlight now is sleeping
On mossy hillock and on headstone grey,
Where still our Mother holds in faithful keeping
Such as, while living, in her dear arms lay.
Ah! loving and beloved, we know ye rest,
E'en in the grave, upon her hallow'd breast.

Gladys And Her Island

© Jean Ingelow

“Ah, well, but I am here; but I have seen
The gay gorse bushes in their flowering time;
I know the scent of bean-fields; I have heard
The satisfying murmur of the main.”

The Bard Of Breffney

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

Withered with years and broken by Time's play

I still do live, who only seek to lay

Looking Forward

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

How busily those little fingers soft

That within mine own are clasped so oft

Benedicite

© John Greenleaf Whittier

God's love and peace be with thee, where
Soe'er this soft autumnal air
Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair.

Psalm CIV. Paraphrased

© James Thomson

To praise thy Author, Soul, do not forget;
Canst thou, in gratitude, deny the debt?
Lord, thou art great, how great we cannot know;
Honour and majesty do round thee flow.

The Heroic Enthusiasts - Part The Second =First Dialogue.=

MAR. We know that you are not a theologian but a philosopher, and that
you treat of philosophy and not of theology.

A little while, a little while

A little while, a little while,
The weary task is put away,
And I can sing and I can smile,
Alike, while I have holiday.

Midsummer

A SONNET.

Tuesday In Whitsun-Week

© John Keble

"Lord, in Thy field I work all day,
I read, I teach, I warn, I pray,
And yet these wilful wandering sheep
Within Thy fold I cannot keep.

A Death in the Bush

For, ere the early settlers came and stocked
These wilds with sheep and kine, the grasses grew
So that they took the passing pilgrim in
And whelmed him, like a running sea, from sight.

The Return Of Peace

They could not quell the grieved and shuddering air,
That breathed about me its forlorn despair:
It almost seemed as if stern Triumph sped
To one whose hopes were dead,
And flaunting there his fortune's ruddier grace,
Smote--with a taunt--wan Misery in the face!