Thomas Aird Poems

The lights of joy at midnight hour
Were up in ancient Babylon.
Beauty and Pleasure, Pride and Power,
Were gathered round Belshazzar's Throne.
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The while he dug, his coat she quaintly dress'd
With flowers, aye peeping forth lest he might see
The unfinish'd fancy; then how pleased when he,
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'Tis now the silent night: the full-orbed moon
Hangs in the depth of blue; scarce shine the stars,
Drowned in her light; the valleys of the earth
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Thou, the King of kingdoms great,
Thou, the Consort of his state,
Ye have eaten Heavenly food,
Jesus' body, Jesus' blood;
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Behold, behold, from out the shadowy Past
Our Scottish fathers start! They start, they come
With onward eyes, around their lifted heads
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Infant of the weeping hills,
Nursling of the springs and rills,
Growing River, flowing ever,
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Loved and loving, God her trust,
The Shepherd's Wife goes dust to dust.
Their Dog, his eye, half sad, half prompt to save,
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The little comer's coming, the comer o'er the sea,
The comer of the summer, all the sunny days to be.
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Skirts of sunny-sifted showers!
There the wild bee,
How privileged he,
Childe of the yellow belt and bands of jet,
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That father died neglected, and in death
With struggling love were mingled bitter thoughts—
A Father's Curse.
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