It's a lovely land that is all your own,
If you're only ten years old,
But when you are more, you are apt to forget
"Past-Ten-o'clock-Dreams of Gold!"
BARDEN FELL, WHARFEDALE.
TO MEMORY
Mem'ry, sweet witch! you brought him to my door.
I heard you knock, and saw your fingers ope
The rosy gateway of a lingering hope,
And I beheld his dear face as of yore.
You held him by the hand I oft caressed,
And seemed so small a sprite by his tall side,
As in his leathern coat you tried to hide,
The same old coat my cheek so often pressed.
Then searchingly his deep blue eyes found mine,
As if to plead against forgetfulness,
With all the old-time loving kindliness:
And then you led him back without one sign.
Sweet little Mem'ry, lead him back once more,
And, knocking, bring him in, and close the door.
A WAR PRAYER FOR A LITTLE BOY
Morning
The day is just beginning,
But all the long night through,
The sailor-men were watching
Out in the dark night blue.
Dear God! when my turn comes,
May my watch be as true.