THE TWO VILLAGES. All around it the forest trees Of soaring hawk and screaming crow ; Over the river, under the hill, There I see in the cloudy night Fires that gleam from the smithy's door, And in the roads no grasses grow, For the wheels that hasten to and fro. In that village on the hill Never is sound of smithy or mill; The houses are thatched with grass and flowers, Never a clock to tell the hours; The marble doors are always shut; You cannot enter in hall or hut; In that village under the hill, CHRISTMAS. And, weeping and sighing, wants to go ROSE TERRY. CHRISTMAS. LIFT up your heads, ye gates! swing wide Forth let the Filial Godhead ride On wings of cherubim up-borne. Nor dare, thou flushed and flattered East, On mountain tops bright heralds stand And publish over sea and land The certain tidings glad and sweet. He comes! The sky is all on fire, ABRAHAM COLES. A LITTLE WHILE BEYOND the smiling and the weeping Beyond the waking and the sleeping, Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come! Beyond the blooming and the fading I shall be soon; Beyond the shining and the shading, Beyond the hoping and the dreading, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come! Beyond the rising and the setting I shall be soon; Beyond the calming and the fretting, Beyond remembering and forgetting, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come! A LITTLE WHILE. Beyond the gathering and the strowing Beyond the ebbing and the flowing, Beyond the coming and the going, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come! Beyond the parting and the meeting Beyond the farewell and the greeting, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come! Beyond the frost-chain and the fever Beyond the rock-waste and the river, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come! HORATIUS BONAR |