Heather White
SPRIG o’ heather, you were born
Where the mountains greet the morn,
Just within the shadow dim
Of the grey rocks harsh and grim,
Just beside the torrent’s brim,
You were born;
I, a naturalist, can trace
In thy sweet sky-lifted face,
Signs and tokens of the place
Clear as morn.
Breath that comes from ’mong the firs,
When the wet-faced sea-wind stirs
In its flight,
Night of gloom, and day of gold,
Hill and vale, white flocks in fold,
Ah, to-night,
Dim my eyes grow as they see
All thy dear heart shows to me,
Blossom from across the sea,
Heather White!
Grannie’s Message to Jack
YOU’RE sending Jack a letter, dear—
To-day he’s twenty-one,
And plainly I can read your pride
And joy in the dear son.
He wants a message—Ah, if I
Could take his hand in mine
Instead of putting all my love
In one poor little line.
But write out clear and let it read
To Jack, away from home,
Old Grannie says, get ready,
For the Kingdom come.
You’re smiling daughter as you write,
But Jack won’t smile that way,
His mind will just go flying back
To thoughts of yesterday;
Before he got so big and strong,
And oh, so very nice,
When he was Grannie’s white-haired boy
Just dreaming of the skies.
So write out clear, and let it read,
To Jack, away from home,
Old Grannie, says get ready
For the Kingdom come.