Down in the vale the lazy sheep
Are roaming at their will,
But I would be away to weep
Upon the windy hill,
For Summer's song is in my heart,
Her kiss is on my brow,
As here I kneel alone, apart,
To consecrate our vow.
Ah, doubly poor the gift shall be
That links my soul with hers,
For she has given her all to me
While I can give but tears!
OUR DAILY BREAD.
"Give us this day our daily bread!" O prayer
By Jesus taught, thou hast become a cry
For starveling mouths in Famine's ghastly lair—
A beggar's plaint when Dives passes by.
We have forsook the Temple of the Soul
To carp with sordid tradesmen face to face;
No more we hear the Sinaian thunders roll,
Or Jesus preaching in the market-place.
The money-changers flaunt their silks and gold;
Within the Temple gates they ply their trade,
Forgetful of the Voice that cried of old:
"A den of thieves my Father's house is made!"