#English #Victorians #Women #XIXCentury
O Lady Moon, your horns point tow… Shine, be increased; O Lady Moon, your horns point tow… Wane, be at rest.
Thou who didst hang upon a barren… My God, for me; Though I till now be barren, now… Lord, give me strength To bring forth fruit to Thee.
Something this foggy day, a someth… Is neither of this fog nor of toda… Has set me dreaming of the winds t… Past certain cliffs, along one cer… And turn the topmost edge of waves…
Oh, for the time gone by, when tho… Made His Yoke easy and His Burde… When my heart stirred within me at… Of Altar spread for awful Euchari… When all my hopes His promises su…
The earth was green, the sky was b… I saw and heard one sunny morn, A skylark hang between the two, A singing speck above the corn; A stage below, in gay accord,
My baby has a father and a mother, Rich little baby! Fatherless, motherless, I know an… Forlorn as may be: Poor little baby!
DOES the road wind uphill all th… Yes, to the very end. Will the day’s journey take the wh… From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resti…
This Advent moon shines cold and… These Advent nights are long; Our lamps have burned year after y… And still their flame is strong. ‘Watchman, what of the night?’ we…
A diamond or a coal? A diamond, if you please: Who cares about a clumsy coal Beneath the summer trees? A diamond or a coal?
I will accept thy will to do and b… Thy hatred and intolerance of sin, Thy will at least to love, that bu… And thirsteth after Me: So will I render fruitful, blessi…
Our little baby fell asleep, And may not wake again For days and days, and weeks and w… But then he’ll wake again, And come with his own pretty look,
On the grassy banks Lambkins at their pranks; Woolly sisters, woolly brothers Jumping off their feet While their woolly mothers
Minnie bakes oaten cakes, Minnie brews ale, All because her Johnny’s coming Home from sea. And she glows like a rose
I dwell alone —I dwell alone, alo… Whilst full my river flows down to… Gilded with flashing boats That bring no friend to me: O love—songs, gurgling from a hund…
Hope new born one pleasant morn Died at even; Hope dead lives nevermore. No, not in heaven. If his shroud were but a cloud