O, WEEL BEFA' THE MAIDEN GAY.

99

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,

The saddest are these: "It might have been!"

Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes;

And, in the hereafter, angels may

Roll the stone from its grave away!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

O, WEEL BEFA' THE MAIDEN GAY.

O, WEEL befa' the maiden gay,
In cottage, bught, or penn !
An' weel befa' the bonny May
That wons in yonder glen!

Wha lo'es the modest truth sae weel,
Wha's aye sae kind, an' aye sae leal,
An' pure as blooming asphodel
Amang sae mony men!

O, weel befa' the bonny thing
That wons in yonder glen!

'Tis sweet to hear the music float Alang the gloaming lea;

'Tis sweet to hear the blackbird's note

Come pealing frae the tree;

100

O, WEEL BEFA' THE MAIDEN GAY.

י,

To see the lambkin's lightsome race,
The dappled kid in wanton chase,
The young deer cower in lonely place,
Deep in his flowery den;

But sweeter far the bonny face
That smiles in yonder glen!

O, had it no' been for the blush
O' maiden's virgin flame,

Dear Beauty never had been known,

An' never had a name;

But aye sin' that dear thing o' blame
Was modelled by an angel's frame,
The power o' beauty reigns supreme
O'er a' the sons o' men;

But deadliest far the sacred flame
Burns in a lonely glen!

There's beauty in the violet's vest,
There's hinny in the haw;

There's dew within the rose's breast,

The sweetest o' them a';

The sun will rise and set again,

An' lace wi' burning gowd the main,
The rainbow bend out-ower the plain,
Sae lovely to the ken;

But lovelier far the bonny thing

That wons in yonder glen!

JAMES HOGG.

COMING ACROSS.

EVERY sail is full set, and the sky
And the sea blaze with light,

And the moon 'mid her virgins glides on,
As St. Ursula might.

And the throb of the pulse never stops

In the heart of the ship,

As her measures of water and fire
She drinks down at a sip.

Yet I never can think, as I lie

And so wearily toss,

That by saint, or by star, or by ship

I am coming across

But by light which I know in dear eyes That are bent on the sea:

And the touch I remember of hands

That are waiting for me.

By the light of the eyes I could come
If the stars should all fail;

And I think, if the ship should go down,
That the hands would prevail.

Ah! my darlings, you never will know
How I pined in the loss

Of you all, and how breathless and glad
I am, coming across.

H. H.

MATIN HYMN.

I CANNOT ope mine eyes

But Thou art ready there, to catch

My morning soul and sacrifice;

Then we must needs for that day make a match.

My God, what is a heart?

Silver, or gold, or precious stone?

Or star, or rainbow? or a part

Of all these things, or all of them in one?

My God, what is a heart?

That thou shouldst it so eye and woo,

Pouring upon it all thine art,

As if that Thou hadst nothing else to do?

Indeed, man's whole estate

Amounts (and richly) to serve Thee.

He did not heaven and earth create;

Yet studies them, not Him by whom they be.

Teach me Thy love to know,

That this new light which now I see
May both the work and Workman show:
Then by a sunbeam I will climb to Thee.

GEORGE HERBERT.

THE LAND O' THE LEAL.

I'm wearin' awa', Jean,

Like snaw in a thaw, Jean ;

I'm wearin' awa'

To the Land o' the Leal.

There's nae sorrow there, Jean; There's neither cauld nor care, Jean; The day is ever fair

In the Land o' the Leal.

You've been leal and true, Jean;

Your task's ended now, Jean;
And I'll welcome you

To the Land o' the Leal.
Then dry that tearfu' ee, Jean!
My soul langs to be free, Jean;
And angels wait on me

To the Land o' the Leal.

Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean,

She was baith gude and fair, Jean;

And we grudged her sair

To the Land o' the Leal!

But sorrow's sel' wears past, Jean,

And joy's a-comin' fast, Jean:

The joy that's aye to last,

In the Land o' the Leal.