A little stream had lost its way

A little stream had lost its way
Amid the grass and fern;
A passing stranger scooped a well,
Where weary men might turn;
He walled it in and hung with care
A ladle at the brink;
He thought not of the deed he did,
But judged that all might drink.
He passed again, and lo! the well,
By summer never dried,
Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues,
And saved a life beside.

from A Deed and A Word by Charles Mackay.

With my breath so keen and chilling

seagull-reflection

With my breath so keen and chilling,
I have stripped the branches bare;
And my snow-flakes white are filling,
Feather-like, the frosty air.

Coming o’er the lofty mountains,
There I left a robe of white;
I have locked the sparkling fountains,
I have chained the river bright.

from “Winter” by HP Nichols

Waiting in the woodland

img_1685

Waiting in the woodland, watching for my sweet,
Thinking every leaf that stirs the coming of her feet,
Thinking every whisper the rustle of her gown,
How my heart goes up and up, and then goes down and down.

First it is a squirrel, then it is a dove,
Then a red fox feather-soft and footed like a dream;
All the woodland fools me, promising my love;
I think I hear her talking – ’tis but the running stream.

Lonely grows the afternoon, empty grows the world;
Day’s bright banners in the west one by one are furled,
Sadly sinks the lingering sun that like a lover rose,
One by one each woodland thing loses heart and goes.

from `broken tryst´ by richard le galliene

Veiled is the future before me

img_4494

Veiled is the future before me;
Life’s checkered pathway I climb,
God in his goodness revealing
Only one step at a time.
Will the tomorrow be clouded?
Will it bring sunshine for me?
Let me lean harder, dear Saviour,
Let me lean harder on thee.

Sometime, I’ll come to the valley,
Where a grim shadow is thrown;
No human friend can go with me,
Leave me, O Lord, not alone!
Till that bright, beautiful morning,
When all the darkness shall flee,
Let me lean harder, dear Saviour,
Let me lean harder on thee.

by eliza e. hewitt  1851-1920

My mind lets go a thousand things

img_4518

My mind lets go a thousand things,
Like dates of wars and deaths of kings,
And yet recalls the very hour–
‘Twas noon by yonder village tower,
And on the last blue noon in May–
The wind came briskly up this way,
Crisping the brook beside the road;
Then, pausing here, set down its load
Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly
Two petals from that wild-rose tree.

Memory by Thomas Bailey Aldrich