No More Learning

She spake of Alma's steep incline,
The desert march, the thin red line);
Of how it fired the blood and stirred the heart
Where'er a bairn of hers took part.
« 'Tis for the gallant lads,” she said,
« Who wear the kilt and tartan plaid;
'Tis for the winsome lasses too,
Just like my dainty bells of blue:
So weave well the bright threads,
The red threads, the green threads,
Woof well the strong threads
That bind their hearts to mine. ”
(
I saw an old dame sighing,
Sighing, sighing;
I saw an old dame sighing,
Beside a lonely glen.
Sing high,” she said, "sing low,” she said,
« Wild tempest to the sea,
The wailing of the pibroch's note,
That bade farewell to me.
And wae fa' the red deer,
The swift deer, the strong deer,
Wae fa’ the cursed deer,
That take the place o' men. ”


## p. 16429 (#129) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16429
Where'er a noble deed is wrought,
Where'er the brightest realms of thought,
The artist's skill, the martial thrill,
Be sure to Scotia's land is wed.
She casts the glamour of her name
O'er Britain's throne and statesman's fame;
From distant lands 'neath foreign names,
Some brilliant son his birthright claims.
For ah! she has reared them mid tempests,
And cradled them in snow,
To give the Scottish arms their strength,
Their hearts a kindly glow.
So weave well the bright threads,
The red threads, the green threads,
Woof well the strong threads,
That bind their hearts to thine.
ALICE C. MacDonELL.
MUCKLE-MOU'D MEG
(
O
H, WHA hae ye brought us hame now, my brave lord,
Strappit flaught ower his braid saddle-bow ?
Some bauld Border reiver to feast at our board
An' herry our pantry, I trow.
He's buirdly an' stalwart in lith an' in limb:
Gin ye were his master in war
The field was a saft eneugh litter for him —
Ye needna hae brought him sae far;-
Then saddle an’ munt again, harness an' dunt again,
An' when ye gae hunt again, strike higher game. "
“Hoot, whist ye, my dame, for he comes o' gude kin,
An' boasts o' a lang pedigree;
This night he maun share o' our gude cheer within,
At morning's gray dawn he maun dee.
He's gallant Wat Scott, heir o' proud Harden Ha',
Wha ettled our lands clear to sweep;
But now he is snug in auld Elibank's paw,
An' shall swing frae our donjon-keep.
Though saddle an' munt again, harness an’dunt again,
I'll ne'er when I hunt again strike higher game. ” –


## p. 16430 (#130) ##########################################

16430
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
“Is this young Wat Scott ? an' wad ye rax his craig,
When our daughter is fey for a man?
Gae, gaur the loun marry our muckle-mou'd Meg,
Or we'll ne'er get the jaud aff our han’! »
« 'Od, hear our gudewife! she wad fain save your life; –
Wat Scott, will ye marry or hang ? ”
But Meg's muckle mou set young Wat's heart agrue,
Wha swore to the woodie he'd gang.
Ne'er saddle nor munt again, harness nor dunt again,
Wat ne'er shall hunt again, ne'er see his hame.
Syne muckle-mou'd Meg pressed in close to his side,
An' blinkit fu' sleely and kind;
But aye as Wat glowered on his braw proffered bride,
He shook like a leaf in the wind.
«A bride or a gallows; a rope or a wife! ”
The morning dawned sunny and clear:
Wat boldly strode forward to part wi' his life,
Till he saw Meggy shedding a tear;
Then saddle an' munt again, harness an’dunt again,
Fain wad Wat hunt again, fain wad he hame.
Meg's tear touched his bosom — the gibbet frowned high-
An' slowly Wat strode to his doom;
He gae a glance round wi' a tear in his eye, -
Meg shone like a star through the gloom.
She rushed to his arms; they were wed on the spot,
An' lo'ed ither muckle and lang.
Nae bauld border laird had a wife like Wat Scott:
'Twas better to marry than hang.
So saddle an' munt again, harness an’dunt again,
Elibank hunt again, Wat's snug at hame.
JAMES BALLANTYNE.
YE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND
Y
E GENTLEMEN of England
That live at home at ease,
Ah! little do you think upon
The dangers of the seas.
Give ear unto the mariners,
And they will plainly show
All the cares and the fears
When the stormy winds do blow.


## p. 16431 (#131) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16431
If enemies oppose us
When England is at war
With any foreign nation,
We fear not wound or scar:
Our roaring guns shall teach 'em
Our valor for to know,
Whilst they reel on the keel,
And the stormy winds do blow.
Then courage, all brave mariners,
And never be dismayed:
While we have bold adventurers,
We ne'er shall want a trade;
Our merchants will employ us
To fetch them wealth, we know:
Then be bold — work for gold,
When the stormy winds do blow.
MARTYN PARKER.
HANDS ALL ROUND
F
IRST drink a health, this solemn night,
A health to England, every guest:
That man's the best cosmopolite
Who loves his native country best.
May freedom's oak for ever live
With stronger life from day to day:
That man's the best Conservative
Who lops the moldered branch away.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's hope confound!
To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends,
And the great name of England, round and round.
A health to Europe's honest men!
Heaven guard them from her tyrants' jails!
From wronged Poerio's noisome den,
From iron limbs and tortured nails!
We curse the crimes of southern kings,
The Russian whips and Austrian rods:
We likewise have our evil things,-
Too much we make our ledgers, gods.


## p. 16432 (#132) ##########################################

16432
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Yet hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound!
To Europe's better health we drink, my friends,
And the great name of England, round and round!
What health to France, if France be she,
Whom martial progress only charms?
Yet tell her — better to be free
Than vanquish all the world in arms.
Her frantic city's flashing heats
But fire, to blast the hopes of men.
Why change the titles of your streets ?
You fools, you'll want them all again.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound!
To France, the wiser France, we drink, my friends,
And the great name of England, round and round.
Gigantic daughter of the West,
We drink to thee across the flood!
We know thee and we love thee best;
For art thou not of British blood ?
Should war's mad blast again be blown,
Permit not thou the tyrant powers
To fight thy mother here alone,
But let thy broadsides roar with ours.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound !
To our great kinsman of the West, my friends,
And the great name of England, round and round.
Oh rise, our strong Atlantic sons,
When war against our freedom springs !
Oh, speak to Europe through your guns!
They can be understood by kings.
You must not mix our Queen with those
That wish to keep their people fools:
Our freedom's foemen are her foes;
She comprehends the race she rules.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound!
To our great kinsmen in the West, my friends,
And the great cause of Freedom, round and round.
ALFRED TENNYSON.


## p. 16433 (#133) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16433
RECESSIONAL
In the London Times at the end of the Queen's Jubilee, 1897
Gº
Od of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine —
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart:
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!
Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget — lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not thee in awe,-
Such boasting as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law,-
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,–
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not thee to guard, -
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy mercy on thy people, Lord!
Amen.
RUDYARD KIPLING.
XXVIII-1028


## p. 16434 (#134) ##########################################

16434
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER
O
SAY, can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleam-
ing?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming!
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there:
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses ?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner; oh, long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of fight, or the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just;
And this be our motto,-“In God is our trust :)
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.


## p. 16435 (#135) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16435
THE MARSEILLAISE
Y*
E SONS of Freedom, wake to glory!
Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise!
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,
Behold their tears and hear their cries!
Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
Affright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty lie bleeding?
To arms! to arms! ye brave!
The avenging sword unsheathe;
March on! march on! all hearts resolved
On victory or death!
Now, now the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings confederate raise;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo! our fields and cities blaze:
And shall we basely view the ruin,
While lawless force, with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation far and wide,
With crimes and blood his hands imbruing ?
To arms! to arms! ye brave!
The avenging sword unsheathe;
March on! march on! all hearts resolved
On victory or death!
O Liberty! can man resign thee,
Once having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee?
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long the world has wept, bewailing
That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield;
But freedom is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arms! to arms! ye brave!
The avenging sword unsheathe;
March on! march on! all hearts resolved
On victory or death!
(Abbreviated. )
ROUGET DE LISLE.


## p. 16436 (#136) ##########################################

16436
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE DEPARTURE FOR SYRIA
(LE DÉPART 1809, POUR LA SYRIE)
[The music of this song, which was composed by Queen Hortense, mother
of Napoleon III. , became the national air of the French Empire. ]
T°
O SYRIA young Dunois will go,
That gallant, handsome knight,
And prays the Virgin to bestow
Her blessing on the fight.
“O Thou who reign’st in heaven above,”
He prayed, "grant this to me:
The fairest maiden let me love,
The bravest warrior be. ”
He pledges then his knightly word,
His vow writes on the stone,
And following the count, his lord,
To battle he has gone.
To keep his oath he ever strove,
And sang aloud with glee,
The fairest maid shall have my love,
And honor mine shall be. ”
C
Then said the count, « To thee we owe
Our victory, I confess;
Glory on me thou didst bestow,-
I give thee happiness:
My daughter, whom I fondly love,
I gladly give to thee;
She, who is fair all maids above,
Should valor's guerdon be. ”
They kneel at Mary's altar both, -
The maid and gallant knight,-
And there with happy hearts their troth
Right solemnly they plight.
It was a sight all souls to move;
And all cried joyously,
«Give honor to the brave, and love
Shall beauty's guerdon be. ”
M. DE LABORDE.


## p. 16437 (#137) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16437
THE WATCH ON THE RHINE
VOICE resounds like thunder-peal,
’Mid dashing waves and clang of steel:-
« The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine!
Who guards to-day my stream divine ? »
A.
Chorus
Dear Fatherland, no danger thine:
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine!
They stand, a hundred thousand strong,
Quick to avenge their country's wrong;
With filial love their bosoms swell,
They'll guard the sacred landmark well!
The dead of a heroic race
From heaven look down and meet their gaze;
They swear with dauntless heart, “O Rhine,
Be German as this breast of mine! »
While flows one drop of German blood,
Or sword remains to guard thy flood,
While rifle rests in patriot hand, -
No foe shall tread thy sacred strand!
Our oath resounds, the river flows,
In golden light our banner glows;
Our hearts will guard thy stream divine:
The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine!
MAX SCHNECKENBURGER.
A CINQUE PORT
B
ELOW the down, the stranded town
What may betide forlornly waits;
With memories of smoky skies,
When Gallic navies crossed the straits,
When waves with fire and blood grew bright,
And cannon thundered through the night.
With swinging stride the rhythmic tide
Bore to the harbor barque and sloop;


## p. 16438 (#138) ##########################################

16438
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Across the bar the ship of war,
In castled stern and lanterned poop,
Came up with conquests on her lee,
The stately mistress of the sea.
Where argosies have wooed the breeze,
The simple sheep are feeding now;
And near and far across the bar
The plowman whistles at the plow;
Where once the long waves washed the shore,
Larks from their lowly lodgings soar.
.
Below the down the stranded town
Hears far away the rollers beat;
About the wall the sea-birds call;
The salt wind murmurs through the street:
Forlorn, the sea's forsaken bride
Awaits the end that shall betide.
JOHN DAVIDSON.
From Ballads and Songs.
APRIL IN IRELAND
HE hath a woven garland all of the sighing sedge,
And all her flowers are snowdrops grown in the winter's edge;
The golden looms of Tir na n’Og wove all the winter through
Her gown of mist and raindrops shot with a cloudy blue.
S"
Sunlight she holds in one hand, and rain she scatters after,
And through the rainy twilight we hear her fitful laughter.
She shakes down on her flowers the snows less white than they,
Then quickens with her kisses the folded “knots o' May. ”
She seeks the summer-lover that never shall be hers;
Fain for gold leaves of autumn she passes by the furze,
Though buried gold it hideth; she scorns her sedgy crown,
And pressing blindly sunwards she treads her snowdrops down.
Her gifts are all a fardel of wayward smiles and tears,
Yet hope she also holdeth, this daughter of the years —
A hope that blossoms faintly set upon sorrow's edge:
She hath a woven garland all of the signing sedge.
NORA HOPPER.


## p. 16439 (#139) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16439
ADIEU FOR EVERMORE
[Tennyson once quoted to Ruskin this stanza as the most romantic of
lyrics; and Ruskin said he knew it well, and that it was among the best
things ever done by anybody.
He turned his charger as he spake,
Upon the river shore,
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
Said Adieu for evermore,
My love!
And adieu for evermore.
Scott used it in (Rokeby. ' Its original is the old Scotch ballad which fol-
lows. ]
T WAS a' for our rightful king,
That we left fair Scotland's strand,
It was a' for our rightful king,
That we e'er saw Irish land,
My dear,
That we e'er saw Irish land.
T
.
«Now all is done that man can do,
And all is done in vain,
My love! My native land, adieu!
For I must cross the main,
My dear,
For I must cross the main. ”
>>
He turned him round and right about,
All on the Irish shore,
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
With “Adieu for evermore,
My dear!
Adieu for evermore!
« The soldier frae the war returns,
And the marchant frae the main,
But I hae parted wi' my love,
And ne'er to meet again,
My dear,
And ne'er to meet again.
« When the day is gone and night is come,
And a' are boun' to sleep,
I think on them that's far awa
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear,
The lee-lang night, and weep. ”


## p. 16440 (#140) ##########################################

16440
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
WILLY REILLY
[The story on which this ballad is founded happened some eighty years
ago; and as the lover was a young Catholic farmer, and the lady's family of
high Orange principles, it got a party character which, no doubt, contributed
to its great popularity. ]
“Ο
RISE up, Willy Reilly! and come along with me;
I mean for to go with you and leave this counterie, -
To leave my father's dwelling, his houses and free
land: »
And away goes Willy Reilly and his dear Coolen Bawn. *
They go by hills and mountains, and by yon lonesome plain,
Through shady groves and valleys all dangers to refrain;
But her father followed after with a well-armed band,
And taken was poor Reilly and his dear Coolen Bawn.
It's home then she was taken, and in her closet bound;
Poor Reilly all in Sligo jail lay on the stony ground,
'Till at the bar of justice before the judge he'd stand,
For nothing but the stealing of his dear Coolen Bawn.
“Now in the cold, cold iron my hands and feet are bound;
I'm handcuffed like a murderer, and tied unto the ground:
But all the toil and slavery I'm willing for to stand,
Still hoping to be succored by my dear Coolen Bawn. ”
»
The jailer's son to Reilly goes, and thus to him did say:
“O get up, Willy Reilly,- you must appear this day;
For great Squire Foillard's anger you never can withstand;
I'm afeared you'll suffer sorely for your dear Coolen Bawn.
« This is the news, young Reilly, last night that I did hear:
The lady's oath will hang you or else will set you clear. ”
« If that be so," says Reilly, «her pleasure I will stand;
Still hoping to be succored by my dear Coolen Bawn. ”
Now Willy's drest from top to toe all in a suit of green;
His hair hangs o'er his shoulders most glorious to be seen;
He's tall and straight and comely as any could be found:
He's fit for Foillard's daughter, was she heiress to a crown.
The judge he said, “This lady being in her tender youth,
If Reilly has deluded her she will declare the truth. ”
* Cailín bán — fair girl.


## p. 16441 (#141) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16441
Then, like a moving beauty bright, before him she did stand –
« You're welcome there, my heart's delight and dear Coolen
Bawn.
”
(
«O gentlemen," Squire Foillard said, “with pity look on me:
This villain came amongst us to disgrace our family;
And by his base contrivances this villainy was planned.
If I don't get satisfaction I'll quit this Irish land. ”
The lady with a tear began, and thus replied she:--
« The fault is none of Reilly's, — the blame lies all on me:
I forced him for to leave his place, and come along with me; –
I loved him out of measure, which wrought our destiny. "
Out bespoke the noble Fox,— at the table he stood by,-
"O gentlemen, consider on this extremity!
To hang a man for love is a murder you may see:
So spare the life of Reilly,— let him leave this counterie. ”
“Good my lord, he stole from her her diamonds and her rings,
Gold watch and silver buckles, and many precious things,
Which cost me in bright guineas more than five hundred pounds.
I'll have the life of Reilly should I lose ten thousand pounds. ".
«Good my lord, I gave them him as tokens of true love;
And when we are a-parting I will them all remove. -
If you have got them, Reilly, pray send them home to me. ” —
«I will, my loving lady, with many thanks to thee. ” —
« There is a ring among them I allow yourself to wear,
With thirty locket diamonds well set in silver fair;
And as a true-love token wear it on your right hand,
That you'll think on my poor broken heart when you're in foreign
lands. ”
»
Then out spoke noble Fox, “You may let the prisoner go:
The lady's oath has cleared him, as the jury all may know;
She has released her own true love, she has renewed his name;-
May her honor bright gain high estate, and her offspring rise to
fame. ”
An Ulster Ballad.


## p. 16442 (#142) ##########################################

16442
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE
A*
ND are ye sure the news is true ?
And are ye sure he's weel ?
Is this a time to think o' wark ?
Ye jauds, fling by your wheel!
Is this a time to think o'wark,
When Colin's at the door?
Rax me my cloak, — I'll to the quay
And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa'.
And gie to me my bigonet,
My bishop's-satin gown, -
For I maun tell the bailie's wife
That Colin's come to town;
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My hose o' pearl-blue:
It's a' to pleasure my ain gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.
Rise up and mak a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot;
Gie little Kate her Sunday gown,
And Jock his button coat;
And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw:
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been long awa'.
There's twa fat hens upo' the bank,-
They've fed this month and mair,-
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;
And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw:
For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa'?
Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,
His breath like caller air;
His very foot has music in 't
As he comes up the stair.


## p. 16443 (#143) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16443
And will I see his face again ?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzit wi' the thought -
In troth I'm like to greet!
Since Colin's weel, I'm weel content-
I hae nae mair to crave;
Could I but live to mak him blest,
I'm blest aboon the lave:
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzit wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a':
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa'.
JEAN ADAM.
“IT'S HAME, AND IT'S HAME »
IT
t's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be,
An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the tree,
The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie.
It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be,
And it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
The green leaf o' loyalty's beginning for to fa';
The bonny white rose it is withering an'a':
But I'll water 't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie,
An' green it will grow in my ain countrie.
It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be,
And it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
There's naught now frae ruin my country can save,-
But the keys o' kind heaven to open the grave;
That a' the noble martyrs wha died for loyaltie,
May rise again and fight for their ain countrie.
It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be,
An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
The great now are gane, a' wha ventured to save,-
The new grass is springing on the tap o' their grave;


## p. 16444 (#144) ##########################################

16444
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But the sun through the mirk blinks blithe in my ee-
"I'll shine on ye yet in yer ain countrie. ”
It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be,
An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie.
ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
ITS AIN DRAP O' DEW
C
ONFIDE ye aye in Providence,
For Providence is kind;
An' bear ye a' life's changes
Wi' a calm and tranquil mind.
Though pressed and hemmed on every side,
Ha'e faith, an' ye'll win through;
For ilka blade o' grass
Keeps its ain drap o' dew.
Gin reft frae friends, or crossed in love,
As whiles nae doubt ye've been,
Grief lies deep-hidden in your heart,
Or tears flow frae your e'en,
Believe it for the best, and trow
There's good in store for you;
For ilka blade o' grass
Keeps its ain drap o' dew.
In lang, lang days o’ simmer,
When the clear and cloudless sky
Refuses ae wee drap o' rain
To nature, parched and dry,
The genial night, with balmy breath,
Gars verdure spring anew,
An' ilka blade o' grass
Keeps its ain drap o' dew.
Sae lest 'mid fortune's sunshine
We should feel ower proud an' hie,
An' in our pride forget to wipe
The tear frae poortith's e'e,
Some wee dark clouds o' sorrow come,
We ken na whence or hoo;
But ilka blade o' grass
Keeps its ain drap o' dew.
JAMES BALLANTINE.


## p. 16445 (#145) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16445
MINE OWN WORK
I
MADE the cross myself whose weight
Was later laid on me:
This thought is torture as I toil
Up life's steep Calvary.
To think mine own hands drove the nails!
I sung a merry song,
And chose the heaviest wood I had
To build it firm and strong.
If I had guessed — if I had dreamed
Its weight was made for me,
I should have made a lighter cross
To bear up Calvary.
ANNE REEVE ALDRICH.
DEPARTURE
N°
or as in prison pent,
Not as a spirit sent
To baser banishment,
I tarried well content
The body's guest.
Whithersoe'er I fly,
Let me not wholly die ! -
Yet He who shall deny
Or grant this parting cry
Knows which is best.
WILLIAM CRANSTON LAWTON.
LIFE
A
SA shaft that is sped from a bow unseen to an unseen mark,
As a bird that gleams in the firelight, and hurries from dark
to dark,
As the face of the stranger who smiled as we passed in the crowded
street, -
Our life is a glimmer, a flutter, a memory, fading, yet sweet!
WILLIAM CRANSTON LAWTON.


## p. 16446 (#146) ##########################################

16446
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE CLOSING DOORS
E"
ILIDH, Eilidh, Eilidh, heart of me, dear and sweet!
In dreams I am hearing the whisper, the sound of your com-
ing feet;
The sound of your coming feet that like the sea-hoofs beat
A music by day and night, Eilidh, on the sands of my heart, my
sweet!
Osands of my heart, what wind moans low along thy shadowy
shore ?
Is that the deep sea-heart I hear with the dying sob at its core ?
Each dim lost wave that lapses is like a closing door:
'Tis closing doors they hear at last who soon shall hear no more,
Who soon shall hear no more.
Eilidh, Eilidh, Eilidh, come home, come home to the heart o’ me!
It is pain I am having ever, Eilidh, a pain that will not be.
Come home, come home, for closing doors are as the waves o' the
sea, -
Once closed they are closed forever, Eilidh, lost, lost for thee and me,
Lost, lost, for thee and me.
FIONA MACLEOD.
A RHYME OF DEATH'S INN
A ;
RHYME of good Death's inn!
My love came to that door;
And she had need of many things,
The way had been so sore.
My love she lifted up her head,
"And is there room ? » said she:
« There was no room in Bethlehem's inn
For Christ who died for me. ”
But said the keeper of the inn,
“His name is on the door. ”
My love then straightway entered there:
She hath come back no more.
LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE.


## p. 16447 (#147) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16447
AFTER THE BALL
THE
HEY sat and combed their beautiful hair,
Their long bright tresses, one by one,
As they laughed and talked in the chamber there,
After the revel was done.
Idly they talked of waltz and quadrille,
Idly they laughed like other girls
Who, over the fire, when all is still,
Comb out their braids and curls.
Robe of satin and Brussels lace,
Knots of flowers and ribbons too,
Scattered about in every place,-
For the revel is through.
And Maud and Madge in robes of white,
The prettiest night-gowns under the sun,
Stockingless, slipperless, sit in the night,
For the revel is done;
Sit and comb their beautiful hair,
Those wonderful waves of brown and gold,
Till the fire is out in the chamber there,
And the little bare feet are cold.
Then out of the gathering winter chill,
All out of the bitter St. Agnes weather,
While the fire is out and the house is still,
Maud and Madge together,-
Maud and Madge in robes of white,
The prettiest night-gowns under the sun,-
Curtained away from the chilly night,
After the revel is done,-
Float along in a splendid dream,
To a golden gittern's tinkling tune,
While a thousand lustres shimmering stream
In a palace's grand saloon.
Flashing of jewels and flutter of laces,
Tropical odors sweeter than musk,
Men and women with beautiful faces,
And eyes of tropical dusk;


## p. 16448 (#148) ##########################################

16448
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And one face shining out like a star,
One face haunting the dreams of each,
And one voice, sweeter than others are,
Breaking in silvery speech, -
Telling through lips of bearded bloom
An old, old story over again,
As down the royal bannered room,
To the golden gittern's strain,
Two and two they dreamily walk,
While an unseen spirit walks beside,
And all unheard in the lovers' talk
He claimeth one for a bride.
O Maud and Madge, dream on together,
With never a pang of jealous fear!
For ere the bitter St. Agnes weather
Shall whiten another year,
Robed for the bridal, and robed for the tomb,
Braided brown hair and golden tress,
There'll be only one of you left for the bloom
Of the bearded lips to press, —
Only one for the bridal pearls,
The robe of satin and Brussels lace,-
Only one to blush through her curls
At the sight of a lover's face.
O beautiful Madge, in your bridal white,
For you the revel has just begun;
But for her who sleeps in your arms to-night
The revel of life is done!
But robed and crowned with your saintly bliss,
Queen of heaven and bride of the sun,
O beautiful Maud, you'll never miss
The kisses another hath won.
NORA PERRY.


## p. 16449 (#149) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16449
MY CHILD
I
CANNOT make him dead!
His fair sunshiny head
Is ever bounding round my study chair;
Yet when my eyes, now dim
With tears, I turn to him,
The vision vanishes – he is not there!
I walk my parlor floor,
And through the open
door
I hear a footfall on the chamber stair:
I'm stepping toward the hall
To give the boy a call;
And then bethink me that - he is not there.
I thread the crowded street:
A satchel'd lad I meet,
With the same beaming eyes and colored hair;
And as he's running by,
Follow him with my eye,
Scarcely believing that — he is not there!
I cannot make him dead!
When passing by the bed,
So long watched over with parental care,
My spirit and my eye
Seek him inquiringly,
Before the thought comes that — he is not there!
When at the cool gray break
Of day, from sleep I wake,
With my first breathing of the morning air
My soul goes up, with joy,
To Him who gave my boy:
Then comes the sad thought that — he is not there!
When at the day's calm close,
Before we seek repose,
I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer,
Whate'er I may be saying,
I am in spirit praying
For our boy's spirit, though — he is not there!
He lives! — In all the past
He lives; nor to the last,
Of seeing him again will I despair:
XXVIII-1029


## p. 16450 (#150) ##########################################

16450
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
In dreams I see him now;
And on his angel brow
I see it written - « Thou shalt see me there ! »
Yes, we all live to God!
FATHER! thy chastening rod
So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear,
That in the spirit land,
Meeting at thy right hand,
'Twill be our heaven to find that he is there!
-
JOHN PIERPONT.
ARE THE CHILDREN AT HOME?
E“
ACH day when the glow of sunset
Fades in the western sky,
And the wee ones, tired of playing,
Go tripping lightly by,
I steal away from my husband,
Asleep in his easy-chair,
And watch in the open doorway
Their faces fresh and fair.
Alone in the dear old homestead
That once was full of life,
Ringing with girlish laughter,
Echoing boyish strife,
We two are waiting together;
And oft, as the shadows come,
With tremulous voice he calls me,
“It is night! are the children home? »
« Yes, love ! » I answer him gently,
«They're all home long ago;”
And I sing in my quivering treble
A song so soft and low,
Till the old man drops to slumber
With his head upon his hand,
And I tell to myself the number
At home in the better land.
At home, where never a sorrow
Shall dim their eyes with tears!


## p. 16451 (#151) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16451
Where the smile of God is on them
Through all the summer years!
I know — yet my arms are empty,
That fondly folded seven,
And the mother heart within me
Is almost starved for heaven.
Sometimes in the dusk of evening
I only shut my eyes,
And the children are all about me,
A vision from the skies:
The babes whose dimpled fingers
Lost the way to my breast,
And the beautiful ones, the angels,
Passed to the world of the blest.
With never a cloud upon them,
I see their radiant brows,
My boys that I gave to freedom —
The' red sword sealed their vows!
In a tangled Southern forest,
Twin brothers bold and brave,
They fell; and the flag they died for,
Thank God! floats over their grave.
A breath, and the vision is lifted
Away on the wings of light,
And again we two are together,
All alone in the night.
They tell me his mind is failing,
But I smile at idle fears:
He is only back with the children,
In the dear and peaceful years.
And still, as the summer sunset
Fades away in the west,
And the wee ones, tired of playing,
Go trooping home to rest,
My husband calls from his corner,
Say, love, have the children come ? »
And I answer, with eyes uplifted,
“Yes, dear! they are all at home. ”
(C
MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
[Reprinted by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. , publishers. ]


## p. 16452 (#152) ##########################################

16452
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
LITTLE BOY
L
(
ITTLE boy, whose great round eye
Hath the tincture of the sky,
Answer now, and tell me true,
Whence and what and why are you?
And he answered, “Mother's boy. ” –
Yes, yes, I know,
But 'twas not so
Six years ago.
You are mother's anxious joy,
Mother's pet,
But yet
A trouble came within the eye
That had some tincture of the sky.
I looked again: within that eye
There was a question, not reply.
I only shaded back his hair,
And kissed him there:
But from that day
There was more thinking and less play;
And that round eye,
That had a tincture of the sky,
Was somewhat shaded in its sheen;
It looked and listened far away,
As if for what cannot be seen.
Then I turned about and cried,
But who am I,
Prompting thus the dawning soul?
I cannot hide
The want of a reply,
Though traveling nearer to the goal
Where we take no note of time;
I can only say I AM,-
A phrase, a word, that hath no rhyme,-
The name God called himself, the best
To answer the weak patriarch's quest.
((
Why talk nonsense to a child ? »
Asks the mother from the fire,
Listening through both back and ears,
Listening with a mother's fears:
"Already is he something wild,


## p. 16453 (#153) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16453
Says that he can fly down-stair!
I do desire
You questioning men would have a care;-
He is my child, my only one,–
You'll make him try to touch the sun! »
WILLIAM BELL Scott.
MO CÁILIN DONN
He blush is on the flower, and the bloom is on the tree,
And the bonnie, bonnie sweet birds are caroling their glee;
And the dews upon the grass are made diamonds by the sun,
All to deck a path of glory for my own Cáilin Donn!
THE
Oh fair she is! Oh rare she is! Oh dearer still to me,
More welcome than the green leaf to winter-stricken tree!
More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee,
Is the coming of my true love — my own Cáilin Donn!
O sycamore! O sycamore! wave, wave your banners green!
Let all your pennons flutter, O beech! before my queen!
Ye fleet and honeyed breezes, to kiss her hand ye run;
But my heart has passed before ye to my own Cáilin Donn!
Oh fair she is! Oh rare she is! Oh dearer still to me, etc.
Ring out, ring out, O linden, your merry leafy bells!
Unveil your brilliant torches, o chestnut! to the dells;
Strew, strew the glade with splendor, for morn it cometh on!
Oh, the morn of all delight to me my own Cáilin Donn!
Oh fair she is! Oh rare she is! Oh dearer still to me, etc.
She is coming, where we parted, where she wanders every day;
There's a gay surprise before her who thinks me far away;
Oh, like hearing bugles triumph when the fight of freedom's won,
Is the joy around your footsteps, my own Cáilin Donn!
Oh fair she is! Oh rare she is! Oh dearer still to me,
More welcome than the green leaf to winter-stricken tree!
More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee,
Is your coming, O my true love
- my own Cáilin Donn!
-
GEORGE SIGERSON.


## p. 16454 (#154) ##########################################

16454
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
UNTO THE LEAST OF THESE LITTLE ONES
From Harper's Magazine. Copyright 1889, by Harper & Brothers
O
CHILDREN's eyes unchildlike! Children's eyes
That make pure, hallowed age seem young indeed -
Wan eyes that on drear horrors daily feed;
Learned deep in all that leaves us most unwise !
Poor wells, beneath whose troubled depths Truth lies,
Drowned, drowned, alas! So does my sad heart bleed
When I remember you; so does it plead
And strive within my breast - as one who cries
For torture of her first-born — that the day,
The long, bright day, seems thicker sown for me
With eyes of children than the heavens at night
With stars on stars. To watch you is to pray
That you may some day see as children see
When man, like God, hath said, “Let there be light. ”
Dear Christ, thou hadst thy childhood ere thy cross;
These, bearing first their cross, no childhood know,
But, aged with toil, through countless horrors grow
To age more horrible. Rough locks atoss
Above drink-reddened eyes, like Southern moss
That drops its tangles to the marsh below;
No standard dreamed or real by which to show
The piteous completeness of their loss; ,
No rest, no hope, no Christ: the cross alone
Borne on their backs by day, their bed by night,
Their ghastly plaything when they pause to weep,
Their threat of torture do they dare to moan;
A darkness ever dark across their light,
A weight that makes a waking of their sleep.
Father, who countest such poor birds as fall,
Count thou these children fallen from their place;
Lift and console them of thy pity's grace,
And teach them that to suffer is not all;
Hedge them about with love as with a wall,
Give them in dreams the knowledge of thy face,
And wipe away such stains as sin doth trace,
Sending deliverance when brave souls call.
Deliver them, O Lord, deliver them! -
These children - as thy Son was once a child !
Make them even purer than before they fell,


## p. 16455 (#155) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16455
Radiant in raiment clean from throat to hem;
For, Lord, till thou hast cleansed these sin-defiled,
Of such the kingdom, not of heaven, but hell.
AMÉLIE Rives.
TIRED MOTHERS
A
LITTLE elbow leans upon your knee,–
Your tired knee that has so much to bear;
A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly
From underneath a thatch of tangled hair.
Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch
Of warm, moist fingers holding yours so tight;
You do not prize this blessing overmuch:
You almost are too tired to pray, to-night.
But it is blessedness! A year ago
I did not see it as I do to-day:
We are so dull and thankless, and so slow
To catch the sunshine till it slips away.
And now it seems surpassing strange to me,
That while I wore the badge of motherhood,
I did not kiss more oft and tenderly
The little child that brought me only good.
And if, some night, when you sit down to rest,
You miss this elbow from your tired knee,
This restless, curly head froin off your breast,
This lisping tongue that chatters constantly;
If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped,
And ne'er would nestle in your palm again;
If the white feet into their grave had tripped, -
I could not blame you for your heartache then.
I wonder so that mothers ever fret
At little children clinging to their gown;
Or that the footprints, when the days are wet,
Are ever black enough to make them frown.
If I could find a little muddy boot,
Or cap or jacket, on my chamber floor;
If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot,
And hear it patter in my home once more;
If I could mend a broken cart to-day,
To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky,–


## p. 16456 (#156) ##########################################

16456
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
There is no woman in God's world could say
She was more blissfully content than I.
But, ah!