Nymphs
Where are ye now, O beautiful girls of the mountain, Oreads all? Nothing at all stirs here save the drip of the fountain; Answers our call Only the heart-glad thrush, in the Vale of
Easter
Bring flowers to strew His way, Yea, sing, make holiday; Bid young lambs leap, And earth laugh after sleep. For now He cometh forth Winter flies to the north, Folds wings and cries Amid
St. Francis and the Birds
Little sisters, the birds: We must praise God, you and I You, with songs that fill the sky, I, with halting words. All things tell His praise, Woods and waters thereof sing, Summer, Winter,
Sheep and Lambs
All in the April evening, April airs were abroad; The sheep with their little lambs Passed me by on the road. The sheep with their little lambs Passed me by on the road; All
Of St. Francis and the Ass
Our father, ere he went Out with his brother, Death, Smiling and well-content As a bridegroom goeth, Sweetly forgiveness prayed From man or beast whom he Had ever injured Or burdened needlessly. ‘Verily,’ then
The Only Child
Lest he miss other children, lo! His angel is his playfellow. A riotous angel two years old, With wings of rose and curls of gold. There on the nursery floor together They play when
The Children of Lir
Out upon the sand-dunes thrive the coarse long grasses; Herons standing knee-deep in the brackish pool; Overhead the sunset fire and flame amasses And the moon to eastward rises pale and cool. Rose and
Blessings
God bless the little orchard brown Where the sap stirs these quickening days. Soon in a white and rosy gown The trees will give great praise. God knows I have it in my mind,
The Bird's Bargain
‘O spare my cherries in the net,’ Brother Benignus prayed; ‘and I Summer and winter, shine and wet, Will pile the blackbirds’ table high.’ ‘O spare my youngling peas,’ he prayed, ‘That for the