Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/976

 WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together;

Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!

��GEORGE MACDONALD

777 That Holy Thing

SHEY all were looking for a king

To slay their foes and lift them high: Thou cam'st, a little baby thing That made a woman cry.

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��O Son of Man, to right my lot

Naught but Thy presence can avail; Yet on the road Thy wheels are not, Nor on the sea Thy sail'

My how or when Thou wilt not heed,

But come down Thine own secret s*tair, That Thou mayst answer all my need Yea, every bygone prayer.

WALTER CHALMERS SMITH

77# Glenaradale

THERE is no fire of the crackling boughs On the hearth of our fathers, There is no lowing of brown-eyed cows

On the green meadows, Nor do the maidens whisper vows In the still gloaming, Glenaradale.

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