CONSIDER. CONSIDER The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:We are as they ; Like them we fade away, As doth a leaf. Consider The sparrows of the air of small account: Our God doth view Whether they fall or mount,- Consider The lilies that do neither spin nor toil, Yet are most fair: — What profits all this care And all this coil? Consider The birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks; BEAUTY IS VAIN. HILE roses are so red, WH While lilies are so white, Because it gives delight? A lily's straighter than she, And if she were as red or white She'd be but one of three. Whether she flush in love's summer Be she red or white, And stand she erect or bowed, Time will win the race he runs with her And hide her away in a shroud. You MAGGIE A LADY. must not call me Maggie, you must not call me Dear, For I'm Lady of the Manor now stately to see; And if there comes a babe, as there may some happy year, 'T will be little lord or lady at my knee. O, but what ails you, my sailor cousin Phil, That you shake and turn white like a cockcrow ghost? You're as white as I turned once down by the mill, When one told me you and ship and crew were lost : Philip my playfellow, when we were boy and girl I thought I should have fainted, but I did not faint ; Till I raised my wail of desolate complaint They said I looked so pale, some say so fair, – I know I missed a ringlet from my hair Next morning; and now I am his wife. Look at my gown, Philip, and look at my ring, Where in the sun red roses blush and blow. And I'm the rose of roses says my lord; And to him I'm more than the sun in the sky, His mother said "fie," and his sisters cried "shame," His high-born ladies cried "shame" from their place: They said "fie" when they only heard my name, But fell silent when they saw my face. Am I so fair, Philip? Philip, did you think If I was fair then sure I'm fairer now, You're but a sailor, Philip, weatherbeaten brown, · I'm a great lady in a sheltered bower, With hands grown white through having naught to Yet sometimes I think of you hour after hour WHAT WOULD I GIVE? HAT would I give for a heart of flesh to warm W me through, Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do; Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all. What would I give for words, if only words would come; But now in its misery my spirit has fallen dumb : to say. What would I give for tears, not smiles but scalding tears, To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of years, To wash the stain ingrain and to make me clean again. |