We little children join to praiseThe Holy Child of endless days.The Lord of glory undefiledWas once like us a little child.
Chorus.—"Sweetly, sweetly, sweetly singing,Let us praise him, praise him, praise him, bringingHappy voices, voices, voices ringingLike the songs of the angels round the throne."
He hears the ravens when they call,He sees the little sparrows fall,He heard the little children singHosanna to the Saviour King.Sweetly, &c.
O Jesus, we sing to praise thee,Who said let children come to me;We gather round the mercy seat,O let our songs to thee be sweet.Sweetly, &c.
Jesus, our Master, Lord and King,Spread over us thy sheltering wing,Keep us unspotted, let us beThy children singing praise to thee.Sweetly, &c.
O thou wild rantin' wicked wit;Are thy works, thy fame livin' yet?Will thae daft people never quitAn ne'er ha'e doneDisturbin' me in my black pitWi' Burn's fun.
Though mony years ha'e fled awaySin' thou wert buried in the clay,Thy rhymes, unto this vera day,Are mair than laws;Thy name's set up on ilka bra'Wi' great applause.
And yet, thou wonder-workin' chiel,I'd let ye' charm Scotch bodies weel,But that "Address unto the De'il"Made i' your sport,Has raised a maist revengefu' squeelIn my black court.
Still by the names you gi'e I'm greeted,By every Lallan tongue repeated,I canna turn but what I meet it,In toun or village;My bluid, though hot enough, is heatedTill't boils wi' rage.
My deeds that ha'e been handed down,Sin' I aspired to Heaven's crown,By thee, Rab, lad, dressed up in rhyme,To do me skaith,Are circling still the empire roun'After thy death.
Ye say I roam in search o' prey,An' rest na' neither nicht nor day;A' that ye heard ye'r grannie sayYe hae confest,An' mair than hinted at my stayIn Robin's breast.
My secret agents everywhere,A' Scotland roun', but maist in Ayr,O guid abuse their ain' an' mairYe try to gie them;Nae credit tae ye that ye wereAcquainted wi' them.
O' ghaists an' kelpies deeds, you ken,Hauntin' the foord and lonely glen,Lurin' the tipsy sons of menIn bogs to die;0' auld wives girnin' but an'benOwer bewitched Rye.
An' screeden down, wi' wicked han',0' my deep laid successfu' plan;Vexed at the idlest o' man,Your faither Adam;That got him sent to till the lan',Him and his madam.
You are like money I ha'e saw,For though ye kenned I caused the fa',An' as ye say, "maist ruined a',"In that same hour,You did na strive to get avaOut o' my power
At Kirk you'd neither pray nor praise,But on the lassies ye wad gaze,Notice neat feet, blue eyes, fine claes,Or Jenny's bonnet,An makin rhyme on what ye ha'e,Seen creeping on it.
Hech Rab ye were na blate ava,Ae time ye're mockin Kirk an' a',An' then tae me ye gie' your jaw,Or my abode,An' tell how weel I laid my clawOn patient Job.
Aye! an' although ye richt weel knewThat I wi' masons had to doYe could na' rest, oh, no, not you!Till numbered wi' them;Gi'en your "heart's warm fond adieu,"When gaun to lea them.
An' aft ye did your sire provoke,By jest and jeer at better folk,A' solemn thought wad end in smoke,Sae wad his teachin',And fun wad fly in jibe an' jokeAt lang faced preachin'.
The mair they frowned, you joked the mair,0' grave ye had a scanty share,The verra text ya wadna spare,Be't e'er sae holy,An' rhymin' ower the pithy prayerO' pious Willie
Aye' Rab, ye, rail it at me and mine,Yet hungert after things divine,I kenn'd how sairly ye wad pine,For deeds ill done;Ower talents lost, ower wasted time,For sake o' fun
An' then remorse wi' pickled rod,Wad gie' ye mony a lash an' prod,But aye ye went the rantin' road,An prone tae err,You sair misca'd douce men o' GodAn Holy Fair.
I winna say it is untrueWhat's certified o' me by you,If ilka ane their duty'd doAs quick an' weel,As I, my certie! they'd get through,Spite o' the De'il.
There's ae guid turn ye did for me,An' I acknowledge't full an' free,In praisin' up the barley bree"In tuneful line;"Nae bard but you its praise could gieIn words sae fine
An' listen tae me 'Rab, my man,I dinna ken a better plan,To ser' my turn wi'silly manAn wark them ill,Than charming them to pleasure drawnFrae the whisky gill,
This is what gars me maist complain,Maist as weel kenned as mine's your name,Auld Scotia claims ye as her ain,Her dearest one;An' that daft gilpey, Madam Fame,Owns thee her son.
I thocht that jests wad flee fu' fain,Forgetfulness come in again,That I wad claim ye as my ain,Tae baud an bin' yeBut noo through a' o' my domainI canna fin' ye.
Noo fare ye weel, whaure'er ye be,Ane thing I ken ye're no wi' me,I ha'e searched high an' low to see,By spells an' turns;Sae I maun even let ye be,O Robert Burns.
G. Hill, 1840.
He has come and he has gone,Meeting, parting, both are o'er;And I feel the same dull pain,Aching heart and throbbing brainComing o'er me once againThat I often felt before.
For he is my father's son,And, in childhood's loving timeHe and I so lone, so young,No twin blossoms ever sprung,No twin cherries ever clung,Closer than his heart and mine.
He is changed, ah me! ah me!Have we then a different aim?Shall earth's glory or its goldMake his heart to mine grow cold?Or can new love kill the old?Leaving me for love and fame
Oh, my brother fair to see!Idol of my lonely heart,Parting is a time of test,Father, give him what is best,Father keep him from the rest,Bless him though we fall apart.
Well I know love will not die,It will cause us bliss or pain;We may part for many years,But my loving prayers and tears,Rising up to Him who hears,Will yet draw him back again.
From the fount of tenderness,All the past comes brimming up;When his brow is touched with care,When no grief of his I share,When we're separated far,It will be a bitter cup;Bless him from before Thy throne,Thus my heart to Thee makes moan,Keep him Lord where he is gone
Let mirth and joy a season reignAnd sorrow flee awaySadness were perfect sin it isMy Anne's natal day
And now a birthday rhyme for herThis sister of my ownAccept the song then for my sakeSister and only one
So long we've lived together hereOur hopes and fears the sameLike two of autumn's last grown leavesLast of our race and name
The past we know its grief and joyIts pleasure and its painBut know not what may happen ereYour birthday comes again
Shall we be cradled in the deepBeneath the briny wave?Or shall the white deer lightly boundOver my forest grave?
Or living yet divided farWith lands and seas betweenAnd sorrow reigning in the heartsWhere childhood's joy has been
The future's sealed we know it notBut wander where we willOn this broad earth we shall remainLone loving sisters still
Since ere I left my native isle,My childhood's home, life's happy smileAnd crossed the separating seas,Nothing my lonely heart could pleaseTill now—and oh, I cannot tellHow I admire thee, Isabel!
There are, in my dear island green,Most lovely faces to be seen,Beautiful eyes, with kindly glee,Beamed there in laughing love on meNow I'm alone from day to day,They're all three thousand miles away.
A stranger's face each face I see,And every eye is cold to me,No friendly voice, no kind caress,No spell to break the loneliness,Until I fell beneath the spellOf thy rare beauty, Isabel
I watch thee from my window paneIn hopes a stolen glimpse to gainI know that purely lovely face,I know that form of stately grace,The sweet blue eye, the silken hairWhose tresses shade thy forehead fair
Thy beauty, like God's summer flowersBlesses and cheers this world of ours.Thy smile, the sunshine clear and trueOf a bright spirit looking throughBut words of mine can never tellAll of thy praise fair Isabel
Fair Isabel fair IsabelI learned to know thy beauty wellIt rose upon my exiled sightA very treasure of delightMy loneliness so comfortingThat my caged heart began to sing
And if I sing thy beauty's fameThy loveliness is all to blameI loved before I understoodThat in thy veins flowed Erin's bloodAnd I could not help but tellOf the fair maiden Isabel
On earth the fairest sweetest spotI'll leave and shall regret it notSince I have left my earthly homeWhat matter is it where I roamNot to the hill I bid farewellBut to the gentle Isabel
Accept then from an Irish heartThis humble tribute ere we partFor thou to me art very dearThe lone star of my sojourn hereTo thee I sadly bid farewellGod bless the maiden Isabel
Heart of mine, by thy quick beating,Thou knowest Isabel is near,And the gladness of the greetingDims my eye with rapture's tear.Heart of mine, each beat will tellHow I love young Isabel.
When I first beheld the maiden,So fair to see, so sweet to bless,I, a stranger, sorrow laden,Arrested by her loveliness,Then I thought some hand would set,On that brow a coronet.
She had grace all hearts beguiling,She had the wealth of silken hair,And sweet lips, half proud, half smiling,Neck of snow and bosom fair,And each eye a sapphire gemFor a monarch's diadem
Oh, she was peerless in her beauty,Like the fair moon she walked alone,And loving her was but a duty,A spell her loveliness had thrown;And I thought that I could traceErin's pencil on her face
With the fervour of my nation,I worshipped her as months went by,She was the one constellation,In my cheerless sky;Though on me there never fellOne kind glance from Isabel.
Heart of mine we love, we love her,She is still our lady bright,Fairest of them all we prove herQueen of beauty as her right.And in simple verse we tellThe praises of fair Isabel.
I am glad when men of geniusArray a common thought,In imperishable beautyThat it cannot be forgot.
The heart thoughts all bright and burnishedBy high poetic art,As sweet as the wood-bird's warbleTouching the very heart.
Have not I, poor workday mortal,Some thoughts of living light,In the spirit's inner chambers,Moving with spirit might?
And they come in the fair spring timeOf heart and life and year,When sweet Nature's wild rejoicings,Draws votaries very near
To the heart of all that's lovelyOn earth and in the sky;Making audible the musicOf the inner melody.
Underlying all the sunshine,Whispering through every breeze,As it crests the ruffled oceanOr sways the forest trees.
Bright thoughts that are heart prisonersVibrating on its chords,For, alas! I have not geniusTo bring them forth in words.
But full oft, like friendship's greetingUpon life's weary way,Do I meet in other's languageWhat I most wished to say.
To such words my bosom echoes,I feel they are my own,They bright echo of my day dreams,That else were ever flown.
Ah to think, ye men of genius,What joy your art affords,Giving to the thoughts of millionsThe dress of glowing words!
And a blessing on these words thenTo bear them far and free;That they glad the hearts of manyAs they have gladdened me.
Dear Jane you say you will gather flowersTo win if you may a verse from meCan you bring to me those brillant hoursWhen life was gladdened by poesy?
Bring me the rose with pearls on her breast,Dropped down as tears from early skies,Pale lilies gather among the restAnd little daisies, with starry eyes
The heart's-ease bring for many a dayIn vain for that flow'ret fair I soughtTurn not your gathering hand awayFrom the wee blue flower, forget me not
Unless inspiration on them restIn vain you tempt me to rise and singThe passage bird that sang in my breastHas fled away with my life's young spring
My harp on a lonely grave is laid,Untuned, unstrung, it will lie there long,If you bring flowers alone dear maidWithout bringing the spirit of song
But accept the friendship that can springOut of this romantic heart of mine,Devoted, true and unwithering,And for ever thine, for ever thine
When my heart was sad and lonely,And had closed its inmost cellOver the impulsive feelingsThat rule my nation's hearts too well.
When the tie was cut asunder,That had bound me to a home,And I felt the desolationOf being in the world alone;
When I first, the veil assuming,Masked before a treacherous world,And the hopes romance expandedReality had sternly furled;
And the touch of disappointment,Blighted what was green and fair,And the spirit's bright revealingsAre not so hopeful as they were.
Precious are the words of kindness,Falling on the heart like dew,Freshening though, alas for weakness,They cannot make things new.
Thoughts come warm from that deep fountainWhere the hidden feelings dwell,First to thank thee, noble stranger,Then to say a kind farewell.
1846.
Sister, sweet sister, years have passed away,Since first, 'mid warm hearts, sunny, frank and true,I commenced rhyming on thy natal day,On the green sod where Erin's shamrock grew.
'Twas in that age that ne'er returns again,Whose tears are but as dew on Summer flowers;And young, warm hearts beat kindly round us then,And eyes beamed brightly, answering love to ours
And now an exile from my native land,Thinking of well remembered, loved Grace Hill,To mine own sister verses I will send,Worthless, yet proving that I love her still
It is thy birthday, and I am alone,Thinking of that dear land that gave us birth,The land of hearts that beat to truth alone,The brightest emerald gem of all the earth.
These fond regrets that press around my heart,And bring a pain I cannot rise above,Makes thee still dearer here, alone, apart,For fate has left me nothing else to love.
Changing life and ever swallowing death,Have taken what I loved against my will,But, never mind, for thou, kind hearted, true,Changeless and noble, thou art left me still.
Happy returns I surely wish thee, Ann,In this new land that's fated to be ours,And may you have a happy heart, that canEnjoy the sunshine, and endure the showers.
The heavens look down with chilly frown,The sun blinks oot wi' watery e'e,The drift flies fast upon the blast,The naked trees moan shiveringly.
The sun is gone, by mists withdrawn,Muffling his head in snow-clouds grey,The earth turns white, against the night,The laden winds drive furiously.
The flowers are slain that graced the plain,The earth is locked wi' bitter frost;And my heart cries to stormy skiesAfter the dreary loved and lost.
The spring will come, the flowers will bloom,The leaves in beauty clothe the tree,But never more, oh, never more,Will my lost darling come to me.
Beyond the skies her happy eyesLook fearlessly in eyes Divine;The bitter smart, the hungry heart,Waiting with empty arms, is mine.
End of Project Gutenberg's Verses and Rhymes by the Way, by Nora Pembroke