Joanna Baillie Poems
Comments about Joanna Baillie
Upon the grass no longer hangs the dew;
Forth hies the mower with his glittering scythe,
In snowy shirt bedight, and all unbraced,
He moves athwart the mead with sideling bend,
And lays the grass in many a swathy line:
In every field, in every lawn and mead,
The rousing voice of industry is heard;
The haycock rises, and the frequent rake
Sweeps on the fragrant hay in heavy wreaths.
The old and young, the weak and strong are there,
And, as they can, help on the cheerful work.
The father jeers his awkward half-grown lad,
Who trails his tawdry armful o'er the ...
A Hymn For The Kirk
O LORD of earth and Heaven,
Whose love and power have given
The solid ground and floating air
And circling ocean, regions fair,
To be the home of moving life,
The busy seats of joy and strife,--
To thee with fear and love we raise
A song of praise.
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