Who know thee, love: thy life be such That, ere the year be o’er, Each one who loves thee now so much, Even God, may love thee more!

Lost the little one roams about, Pathway or shelter none can find; Blinking stars are coming out; No one is moving but the wind; It is no use to cry or shout, All the world is still as a mouse; One thing only eases her mind: “Father knows I’m not in the house!”

I took it for a bird of prey that soared High over ocean, battled mount, and plain; ‘Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored The invisibly obstructing window-pane! Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye, Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve Thee, little angel of […]

An unborn bird lies crumpled and curled, A-dreaming of the world. Round it, for castle-wall, a shell Is guarding it well. Hope is the bird with its dim sensations; The shell that keeps it alive is Patience.

When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver, And eternal bliss looks nearer, Ask thy heart, nor show it favour, Is the gift or giver dearer? Love, love on; love higher, deeper; Let love’s ocean close above her; Only, love thou more love’s keeper, More, the love-creating lover.

The hinges are so rusty The door is fixed and fast; The windows are so dusty The sun looks in aghast: Knock out the glass, I pray, Or dash the door away, Or break the house down bodily, And let my soul go free!

When, with all the loved around thee, Still thy heart says, “I am lonely,” It is well; the truth hath found thee: Rest is with the Father only.

Imagination cannot rise above thee; Near and afar I see thee, and I love thee; My misery away from me I thrust it, For thy perfection I behold, and trust it.

Oh that men would praise the Lord For his goodness unto men! Forth he sends his saving word, –Oh that men would praise the Lord!– And from shades of death abhorred Lifts them up to light again: Oh that men would praise the Lord For his goodness unto men!

Oh how oft I wake and find I have been forgetting thee! I am never from thy mind: Thou it is that wakest me.

Graut Euch nicht, Ihr lieben Leute, Vor dem ungeheuren Morgen; Wenn es kommt, es ist das Heute, Und der liebe Gott zu sorgen.

Where the bud has never blown Who for scent is debtor? Where the spirit rests unknown Fatal is the letter. In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored, All things we inherit, For thou art the very Word And the very Spirit!

“Where is thy crown, O tree of Love? Flowers only bears thy root! Will never rain drop from above Divine enough for fruit?” “I dwell in hope that gives good cheer, Twilight my darkest hour; For seest thou not that every year I break in better flower?”

Thou art my thought, my heart, my being’s fortune, The search for thee my growth’s first conscious date; For nought, for everything, I thee importune; Thou art my all, my origin and fate!

O Father, I am in the dark, My soul is heavy-bowed: I send my prayer up like a lark, Up through my vapoury shroud, To find thee, And remind thee I am thy child, and thou my father, Though round me death itself should gather. Lay thy loved hand upon my head, Let thy heart […]

Winter froze both brook and well; Fast and fast the snowflakes fell; Children gathered round the hearth Made a summer of their mirth; When a boy, so lately come That his life was yet one sum Of delights–of aimless rambles. Romps and dreams and games and gambols, Thought aloud: “I wish I knew What makes […]

If in my arms I bore my child, Would he cry out for fear Because the night was dark and wild And no one else was near? Shall I then treat thee, Father, as My fatherhood would grieve? I will be hopeful, though, alas, I cannot quite believe! I had no power, no wish to […]

Beautiful mother is busy all day, So busy she neither can sing nor say; But lovely thoughts, in a ceaseless flow, Through her eyes, and her ears, and her bosom go– Motion, sight, and sound, and scent, Weaving a royal, rich content. When night is come, and her children sleep, Beautiful mother her watch doth […]

Nobody knows the world but me. The rest go to bed; I sit up and see. I’m a better observer than any of you all, For I never look out till the twilight fall, And never then without green glasses, And that is how my wisdom passes. I never think, for that is not fit: […]

I. I have only one foot, but thousands of toes; My one foot stands well, but never goes; I’ve a good many arms, if you count them all, But hundreds of fingers, large and small; From the ends of my fingers my beauty grows; I breathe with my hair, and I drink with my toes; […]