From Thee all skill and science flow;
   All pity, care, and love,
All calm and courage, faith and hope,
   Oh! pour them from above.

And part them, Lord, to each and all,
   As each and all shall need,
To rise like incense, each to Thee,
   In noble thought and deed.

And hasten, Lord, that perfect day,
   When pain and death shall cease;
And Thy just rule shall fill the earth
   With health, and light, and peace.

When ever blue the sky shall gleam,
   And ever green the sod;
And man’s rude work deface no more
   The Paradise of God.

Eversley, 1870.

THE DELECTABLE DAY

The boy on the famous gray pony,
   Just bidding good-bye at the door,
Plucking up maiden heart for the fences
   Where his brother won honour of yore.

The walk to ‘the Meet’ with fair children,
   And women as gentle as gay,—­
Ah! how do we male hogs in armour
   Deserve such companions as they?

The afternoon’s wander to windward,
   To meet the dear boy coming back;
And to catch, down the turns of the valley,
   The last weary chime of the pack.

The climb homeward by park and by moorland,
   And through the fir forests again,
While the south-west wind roars in the gloaming,
   Like an ocean of seething champagne.

And at night the septette of Beethoven,
   And the grandmother by in her chair,
And the foot of all feet on the sofa
   Beating delicate time to the air.

Ah, God! a poor soul can but thank Thee
   For such a delectable day! 
Though the fury, the fool, and the swindler,
   To-morrow again have their way!

Eversley, 6th November 1872.

JUVENTUS MUNDI

List a tale a fairy sent us
Fresh from dear Mundi Juventus. 
When Love and all the world was young,
And birds conversed as well as sung;
And men still faced this fair creation
With humour, heart, imagination. 
Who come hither from Morocco
Every spring on the sirocco? 
In russet she, and he in yellow,
Singing ever clear and mellow,
’Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet you, sweet you,
Did he beat you?  Did he beat you?’
Phyllopneustes wise folk call them,
But don’t know what did befall them,
Why they ever thought of coming
All that way to hear gnats humming,
Why they built not nests but houses,
Like the bumble-bees and mousies. 
Nor how little birds got wings,
Nor what ’tis the small cock sings—­
How should they know—­stupid fogies? 
They daren’t even believe in bogies. 
Once they were a girl and boy,
Each the other’s life and joy. 
He a Daphnis, she a Chloe,
Only they were brown, not snowy,
Till an Arab found them playing
Far beyond the Atlas straying,