Henry Alford

My hand is lonely for your clasping, dear;
My ear is tired waiting for your call.
I want your strength to help, your laugh to cheer;
...

Again the solemn season--and again
That bleeding Brow, those wounded Hands and Feet--
Again that piercèd Side my vision meet;
...

Here are the brows of Quantock, purple--clad
With lavish heath--bloom: there, the banks of Tone.
Where is that woman, love--forlorn and sad,
...

Tell me, thou mild and melancholy bird,
Whence learnedst thou that meditative voice?
For all the forest--passages rejoice,
...

Saviour of them that trust in Thee,
Once more, with supplicating cries,
We lift the heart and bend the knee,
And bid Devotion's incense rise.
...

The calm of blessed Night
Is on Judaea's hills;
The full--orbed moon with cloudless light
Is sparkling on their rills:
...

Say wilt thou think of me when I'm away,
Borne from the threshold and laid in the clay,
Past and forgotten for many a day?
...

My own dear country, thy remembrance comes
Like softly--flowing music on my heart;
With thy green sunny hills, and happy homes,
...

Who shall declare the secret of thy birth,
Thou old companion of the circling earth?
And having reached with keen poetic sight
...

I.
This tranquil Sabbath morn hath hushed the earth
Into unwonted calm. The clear pale hills
Lie beneath level lines of sunny clouds,
...

The stars are clear and frosty, and the Earth
Is laid in her first sleep, secure and calm;
The glorious works of God, as at the first,
...

'RISE,' said the Master, 'come unto the feast.'
She heard the call and rose with willing feet;
   But thinking it not otherwise than meet
For such a bidding to put on her best,
...

The cowslip standeth in the grass,
The primrose in the budding grove
Hath laid her pale fair breast
On the green sward to rest:
...

I was a young fair tree:
Each spring with quivering green
My boughs were clad; and far
Down the deep vale, a light
...

While our shrub--walks darken,
And the stars get bright aloft,
Still we sit and hearken
To the music low and soft;
...

In token that thou shalt not fear
Christ crucified to own,
We print the Cross upon thee here,
And stamp thee his alone.
...

Thus sung I in these grounds erewhile, perchance
Tempted by sudden aptitude of words
Into that measure which least pleaseth me,
...

I have found Peace in the bright earth
And in the sunny sky:
By the low voice of summer seas,
And where streams murmur by;
...

When I am in my grave,
The busy clouds will wander on;
This Moon, that silver--tips each dancing wave,
Will shine as it hath shone.
...

By Babylon streams we sat us down and wept,
When we remembered Zion mournfully;
As for our harps, we hanged them up
...