RECONCILIATION I begin through the grass once again to be bound to the Lord; I can see, through a face that has faded, the face full of rest Of the earth, of the mother, my heart with her heart in accord, As I lie mid the cool green tresses that mantle her breast I begin with the grass once again to be bound to the Lord. By the hand of a child I am led to the throne of the King For a touch that now fevers me not is forgotten and far,... more...

YULE TIDE. 'They bring me sorrow touched with joy,The merry merry bells of Yule.'  Tennyson, In Memoriam. The Royal Birthday dawns again,A stricken world to bless;And sufferers forget their pain,And mourners their distress. Love sings to-day; her eyes so fairWith happy tears are wet;She is too humble to despair,Too faithful to forget. Her voice is very soft and sweet,Her heart is brave and strong;Her vassal, I would fain repeatSome... more...

The Child Alone       I The Unseen Playmate     II My Ship and I    III My Kingdom     IV Picture-Books in Winter      V My Treasures     VI Block City    VII The Land of Story-Books   VIII Armies in the Fire     IX The Little Land... more...

AT THE SEASIDE When I was down beside the seaA wooden spade they gave to meTo dig the sandy shore.My holes were empty like a cup,In every hole the sea came up,Till it could come no more. IV YOUNG NIGHT THOUGHT All night long and every night,When my mamma puts out the light,I see the people marching by,As plain as day, before my eye. Armies and emperors and kings,All carrying different kinds of things,And marching in so grand a... more...

BED IN SUMMER In winter I get up at nightAnd dress by yellow candle-light.In summer, quite the other way,I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and seeThe birds still hopping on the tree,Or hear the grown-up people's feetStill going past me in the street. And does it not seem hard to you,When all the sky is clear and blue,And I should like so much to play,To have to go to bed by day? Mary Hans A THOUGHT It is very nice... more...

BED IN SUMMER In winter I get up at nightAnd dress by yellow candle-light.In summer, quite the other way,I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and seeThe birds still hopping on the tree,Or hear the grown-up people's feetStill going past me in the street.   And does it not seem hard to you,When all the sky is clear and blue,And I should like so much to play,To have to go to bed by day?     A Thought. It... more...

Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson, or Robert Louis Stevenson, as the world knows him, was still a boy when he published this rare volume of "A Child's Garden of Verses," although by the calendar he was thirty-five years old. You and I have sighed, no doubt, to be a boy again, but here was one who, while he outgrew his knickerbockers, never outgrew the quick sympathy, the brave heart, the fresh outlook, the confident faith and buoyant spirit of the... more...

BED IN SUMMER IN winter I get up at nightAnd dress by yellow candle-light.In summer, quite the other way,I have to go to bed by day.I have to go to bed and seeThe birds still hopping on the tree,Or hear the grown-up people's feetStill going past me in the street.And does it not seem hard to you,When all the sky is clear and blue,And I should like so much to play,To have to go to bed by day? II A THOUGHT IT is very nice to thinkThe world... more...

A CHANNEL PASSAGE 1855 Forth from Calais, at dawn of night, when sunset summer on autumn shone,Fared the steamer alert and loud through seas whence only the sun was gone:Soft and sweet as the sky they smiled, and bade man welcome: a dim sweet hourGleamed and whispered in wind and sea, and heaven was fair as a field in flower.Stars fulfilled the desire of the darkling world as with music: the starbright airMade the face of the sea, if aught... more...

THE ISLE OF THE HAPPY (From the Early Irish) Once when Bran, son of Feval, was with his warriors in his royal fort, they suddenly saw a woman in strange raiment upon the floor of the house. No one knew whence she had come or how she had entered, for the ramparts were closed. Then she sang these quatrains of Erin, the Isle of the Happy, to Bran while all the host were listening: A branch I bear from Evin's apple-treesWhose shape... more...