love poetry

A thousand years by sea and land
Our race hath served the island kings,
But not by custom's dull command
To-day with song her Empire rings:

Not all the glories of her birth,
Her armed renown and ancient throne,
Could make her less the child of earth
Or give her hopes beyond our own:

But stayed on faith more sternly proved
And pride than ours more pure and deep,
She loves the land our fathers loved
And keeps the fame our sons shall keep.

O God of love,
Shine from above,
With mercy strong and tender;
Thy sway alone
My heart would own,
My King and my Defender.

When sore afraid,
To Thee I prayed;
And soon, from Heaven replying,
Thy S PIRIT'S Breath
Wrought life from death,
And gave me songs for sighing.

All foul within,
Laden with sin,
And helpless bound thereunder;
Thy pardon came,
With word of flame,
And burst my bonds in sunder.

Therefore I sing,
O L ORD and K ING ;

A Ballad.

Ah me! how hard the task to bear
The weight of ills we know!
But harder still to dry the tear,
That mourns a nameless we.

If by the side of Lucy's wheel
I sit to see her spin,
My head around begins to reel,
My heart to beat within.

Or when on harvest holliday
I lead the dance along,
If Lucy chance to cross my way,
So sure she leads me wrong,

Written at the Cottage of T. LEWIS, Esq. Woodbury Downs.

In the retirement of this lovely spot,
Sacred to friendship, industry, and worth,
To boundless hospitality and mirth,
Be ever peace and joy — all care forgot,
Save that which carest for a higher, holier, lot!

And thou, sweet girl, whose lovely modest mien,
Cheers the gay banquet with unconscious wiles,
Long mayest thou grace it with affection's smiles,
The vocal syren of this sylvan scene.
Warbling thy sweetest notes 'midst flowers and woodlands green.

WAIT God's time, Love,
Wait Our Father's time!
Lovingly, patiently,
Wait God's time!
Clusters green are on the bough;
Canst thou make them ripen now?
Spring must pass, and Summer, too,
Bring its rain, sunshine and dew;
And even Autumn's mellowing frost
May gently come,
Before the vintage-gatherers, Love,
Sing " harvest home! "

Wait God's time, Love,
Wait Our Father's time!
Watchfully, prayerfully,
Wait God's time!
Let not Passion's stormy air

Land of the gentle and brave!
Our love is as wide as thy woe;
It deepens beside every grave
Where the heart of a hero lies low.

Land of the sunniest skies!
Our love glows the more for thy gloom;
Our hearts, by the saddest of ties,
Cling closest to thee in thy doom.

Land where the desolate weep
In a sorrow no voice may console!
Our tears are but streams, making deep
The ocean of love in our soul.

Land where the victor's flag waves,
Where only the dead are free!

A T dawn of day
I kneel, and clasp my hands, and strive to pray:
But all in vain, dear Love, I bend the knee, —
I can but think of thee!


The Chapel bell
Wakes the loud chaunt and organ's rolling swell:
Yet while my lips in cold responses move, —
My heart burns with thy love!


At still midnight,
Once more the soul attempts her heavenward flight:
But God hath fled, nor hears the empty prayer, —
For thou alone art there!


Help me, dear Love!

So Love is dead, the Love we knew of old!
And in the sorrow of our hearts' hushed halls
A lute lies broken and a flower falls;
Love's house stands empty and his hearth lies cold.
Lone in dim places, where sweet vows were told,
In walks grown desolate, by ruined walls
Beauty decays; and on their pedestals
Dreams crumble and th' immortal gods are mold.
Music is slain or sleeps; one voice alone,
One voice awakes, and like a wandering ghost
Haunts all the echoing chambers of the Past —
The voice of Memory, that stills to stone

Darling little woman, just a little line,
Just a little silver word
For that dear gold of thine,
Only a whisper you have so often heard:

Only such a whisper as hidden in a shell
Holds a little breath of all the mighty sea,
But think what a little of all its depth and swell,
And think what a little is this little note of me

" Darling, I love thee, that is all I live for" —
There is the whisper stealing from the shell,
But here is the ocean, O so deep and boundless,
And each little wave with its whisper as well

I

Dear Love, you ask if I be true,
If other women move
The heart that only beats for you
With pulses all of love

Out in the chilly dew one morn
I plucked a wild sweet rose,
A little silver bud new-born
And longing to unclose.

I took it, loving new-born things,
I knew my heart was warm,
" O little silver rose, come in