THOMAS EDWARD BROWN
So sit till morning' when the light is grown
That he the path can read,
Then bid the man God-speed I His morning is not thine: yet must thou own They have a cheerful warmth those ashes on the stone.
��Preparation
HAST thou a cunning instrument of play, 'Tis well; but see thou keep it bright, And tuned to primal chords, so that it may Be ready day and night.
For when He comes thou know'st not, who shall say:- 'These virginals are apt', and try a note, And sit, and make sweet solace of delight, That men shall stand to listen on the way, And all the room with heavenly music float.
��800 My Garden
A GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot! Rose plot, Fringed pool, Fern'd grot
The veriest school Of peace, and yet the fool Contends that God is not Not God! in gardens' when the eve is cool? Nay, but I have a sign ; 'Tis very sure God walks in mine.
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