#EnglishWriters
Earthly props are useless, On Thy grace I fall; Earthly strength is weakness, Father, on Thee I call,— For comfort, strength, and guidanc…
('Be christs!'- was one of W. T. Stead’s favourite sayings. Not ‘Be like Christ!’- but– ‘Be christs!’ And he used the word no doubt in its original meaning,- anointed, ordained, chosen....
Wherever is an empty chair— Lord, be Thou there! And fill it—like an answered praye… With grace of fragrant thought, an… Sweet memories of him whose place
Is there, in you or me, Seed of that poison-tree Which, in its bitter fruiting, bor… Such vintage sore Of red calamity—
When, with bowed head, And silent-streaming tears, With mingled hopes and fears, To earth we yield our dead; The Saints, with clearer sight,
“My lord, there came unto the gate One, in such pitiful estate, So all forlorn and desolate, Ill-fed, ill-clad, of ills compact… A leper too,—his poor flesh wracke…
“'Tis all a Chequer-Board of Nig… Where Detiny with men for pieces… Hither and thither moves, and mate… And one by one back in the Closet… Omar Khayyam.
With the thirty pieces of silver, They bought the Potter’s Field; For none would have the blood-mone… And the interest it might yield. The Place of Blood for the Price…
There is darkness still, gross dar… On this fair earth of Thine. There are prisoners still in the p… Where never a light doth shine. There are doors still bolted again…
We thank Thee, Lord, For all Thy Golden Silences,— For every Sabbath from the world’… For every respite from the stress… Silence of moorlands rolling to th…
Some have much, and some have more… Some are rich, and some are poor, Some have little, some have less, Some have not a cent to bless Their empty pockets, yet possess
(Cradle Song from “The Long Road… Whisht, Baby! Whisht! Quick below the cover! Down into your nest, my bird! And—don’t—you—dare—peep—over!
Evening brings us home,— From our wanderings afar, From our multifarious labours, From the things that fret and jar; From the highways and the byways,
All through the blood-red Autumn, When the harvest came to the full; When the days were sweet with suns… And the nights were wonderful,— The Reaper reaped without ceasing…
Not for one single day Can I discern my way, But this I surely know,— Who gives the day, Will show the way,