The Man that hath great griefs I pity not;
’Tis something to be great
In any wise, and hint the larger state,
Though but in shadow of a shade, God wot!
A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
When He appoints to meet thee, go thou forth—
It matters not
If south or north,
Bleak waste or sunny plot.
SHE knelt upon her brother's grave,
My little girl of six years old--
He used to be so good and brave,
The sweetest lamb of all our fold;
WHEN Jessie comes with her soft breast,
And yields the golden keys,
Then is it as if God caress'd
Twin babes upon His knees--
TO live within a cave--it is most good;
But, if God make a day,
And some one come, and say,
'Lo! I have gather'd faggots in the wood!'
I bended unto me a bough of May,
That I might see and smell:
It bore it in a sort of way,
It bore it very well.
Expecting Him, my door was open wide:
Then I looked round
If any lack of service might be found,
And saw Him at my side
High stretched upon the swinging yard,
I gather in the sheet;
But it is hard
And stiff, and one cries haste.
O blackbird, what a boy you are!
How you do go it!
Blowing your bugle to that one sweet star -
How you do blow it!