"It is the earth, the moon, the sun,"
Mote in the sunbeam, sing 'Nowell'!
"And all the stars that march as one."
In Excelsis Gloria!
"Here, by the touch of it, I can see"
Sing, O Life, a sweet Nowell!
"The world's King die on a Christmas-tree."
Answer, Death, with 'Gloria.'
"Here, not set in a realm apart,"
East and West are one 'Nowell'!
"Holy Land is in your Heart!"
North and South one 'Gloria'!
"Death is a birth, birth is a death,"
Love is all, O sing 'Nowell'!
"And London one with Nazareth."
And all the World a 'Gloria.'
"And angels over your heart's roof sing"
Birds of God, O pour 'Nowell'!
"That a poor man's son is the Son of a King!"
Out of your heart this 'Gloria'!
"Round the world you'll not away"
In your own soul, they sing 'Nowell'!
"From Holy Land this Christmas Day!"
In your own soul, this 'Gloria.'
LAVENDER
Lavender, lavender
That makes your linen sweet;
The hawker brings his basket
Down the sooty street:
The dirty doors and pavements
Are simmering in the heat:
He brings a dream to London,
And drags his weary feet.
Lavender, lavender,
From where the bee hums,
To the loud roar of London,
With purple dreams he comes,
From raggèd lanes of wild-flowers
To raggèd London slums,
With a basket full of lavender
And purple dreams he comes.
Is it nought to you that hear him?
With the old strange cry
The weary hawker passes,
And some will come and buy,
And some will let him pass away
And only heave a sigh,
But most will neither heed nor hear
When dreams go by.
Lavender, lavender!
His songs were fair and sweet,
He brought us harvests out of heaven,
Full sheaves of radiant wheat;
He brought us keys to Paradise,
And hawked them thro' the street;
He brought his dreams to London,
And dragged his weary feet.