‘In the shadow of Thy wings, O L… I will put my trust for ever,’ so… ‘Thou shalt help me, Thou shalt s… Thou shalt keep me whole, In the shadow of Thy wings.’

Last night for the first time, O… I held your hand a moment in my ow… The dearest moment which my soul h… Since I beheld and loved you at f… I left you, and I wandered in the…

Oh, where’s the use of having gift… And where’s the use of singing, wh… It may be one or two will say your… But where’s the use of honey, when…

For thee the birds shall never sin… Nor fresh green leaves come out up… The brook shall no more murmur the… For thee. Thou liest underneath the windswep…

Crimson and cream and white - My room is a garden of roses! Centre and left and right, Three several splendid posies. As the sender is, they are sweet,

Lost at sea, with all on board! No one saw their sinking sail, No one heard their dying wail, Heard them calling on the Lord— Lost at sea, with all on board.

with apologies to Lord Tennyson O swallow-tailed purveyor of colle… O skilled to please the student fr… Most honoured publican of Scotlan… Milton, a name to adorn the Cross…

The sun is banished, The daylight vanished, No rosy traces Are left behind. Here in the meadow

The truest Liberal is he Who sees the man in each degree, Who merit in a churl can prize, And baseness in an earl despise, Yet censures baseness in a churl,

O Love, thine empire is not dead, Nor will we let thy worship go, Although thine early flush be fled… Thine ardent eyes more faintly glo… And thy light wings be fallen slow

Let me sleep. The day is past, And the folded shadows keep Weary mortals safe and fast. Let me sleep. I am all too tired to weep

The air is dark and fragrant With memories of a shower, And sanctified with stillness By this most holy hour. The leaves forget to whisper

He brought a team from Inversnaid To play our Third Fifteen, A man whom none of us had played And very few had seen. He weighed not less than eighteen…

Sorrow and sin have worked their w… For years upon your sovereign face… And yet it keeps a faded trace Of its unequalled beauty still, As ruined sanctuaries hold

From Jean Pierre Claris Florian I love to see the swallows come At my window twittering, Bringing from their southern home News of the approaching spring.