THE CHURCH ORGAN
The homeless man has heard thy voice,
Its sound doth move his memory deep;
He stares bewildered, as a man
That's shook by earthquake in his sleep.
Thy solemn voice doth bring to mind
The days that are forever gone:
Thou bringest to mind our early days,
Ere we made second homes or none.
HEIGH HO, THE RAIN
The Lark that in heaven dim
Can match a rainy hour
With his own music's shower,
Can make me sing like him—
Heigh ho! The rain!
Sing—when a Nightingale
Pours forth her own sweet soul
To hear dread thunder roll
Into a tearful tale—
Heigh ho! The rain!
Sing—when a Sparrow's seen
Trying to lie at rest
By pressing his warm breast
To leaves so wet and green—
Heigh ho! The rain!
LOVE'S INSPIRATION
Give me the chance, and I will make
Thy thoughts of me, like worms this day,
Take wings and change to butterflies
That in the golden light shall play;
Thy cold, clear heart—the quiet pool
That never heard Love's nightingale—
Shall hear his music night and day,
And in no seasons shall it fail.
I'll make thy happy heart my port,
Where all my thoughts are anchored fast;
Thy meditations, full of praise,
The flags of glory on each mast.
I'll make my Soul thy shepherd soon,
With all thy thoughts my grateful flock;
And thou shalt say, each time I go—
How long, my Love, ere thou'lt come back?