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Read Ebook: Spun-yarn and Spindrift by Holland Norah M Norah Mary
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Ebook has 201 lines and 12160 words, and 5 pages
Does he fear the tumult of clanging blows, Grey Rider of the Shee? Nay, darker still is the fear he knows To-night, O Vanathee.
Does he fear the loss of wife or child, Grey Rider of the Shee? Nay, a terror holds him that's still more wild To-night, O Vanathee.
O what should make him so sore afraid, Grey Rider of the Shee? He fears a wraith that himself has made To-night, O Vanathee.
Then how shall you cleanse from fear his mind, Grey Rider of the Shee? I will touch his eyes, and they shall be blind To-night, O Vanathee.
Yet still may he know the voice of fear, Grey Rider of the Shee? I will touch his ears that he shall not hear To-night, O Vanathee.
Yet that wraith may linger around his bed, Grey Rider of the Shee? No terror shall touch the quiet dead To-night, O Vanathee.
JOAN THE MAID
Still, they say, she moves through the old-time places, Joan the Maid, with her great sword girt at her side; Sheen of wings and shimmer of angel faces Gather around her as she on doth ride.
Rheims or Orleans may see her thus in splendour, Never the old Domremy streets she knew, Here she walks as a maiden, shy and slender, Brushing with bare brown feet the evening dew.
Oft do the children, playing in the meadows, See her watching them, white and very fair, Smiling lips and eyes that dream in the shadows, Lilies of France she loved so in her hair.
So she comes, through those quiet roadways stealing, Where in the grey church still her people bend, Unto the Maiden, their own saint, appealing; Hears them name her saviour of France and friend.
She has forgotten now the mocking faces, Prison, and wounds, and torture of the flame; Still, they say, she moves through the old-time places, Joan the Maid, whence once, long since, she came.
NEWBURY TOWN
Rupert's soldiers came riding, riding, All in the sunshine riding down, Scented curls on the breezes flowing, Banners dancing and bugles blowing, Gaily the troops came riding, riding, Through the streets of Newbury town.
Bells in the church towers all were swinging, Flags were waving and flowers were strown; Roses lay in the road before them, Roses rained from the casements o'er them, All in the streets, with shout and singing, Prayed that the King might win his own.
Rupert's soldiers came riding, riding, All in the darkness riding down; Never a church-bell chimed to greet them, Never a maid came forth to meet them; Broken, defeated, they came riding Through the streets of Newbury town.
Never more while the bells are calling Rupert's soldiers come riding down; They have ridden, with bugles blowing Into a land beyond our knowing, Never more shall their footsteps falling Haunt the streets of Newbury town.
Yet, as I sit here, idly dreaming, Watching the water onward flow, Still I see, in the sun or shadow, Rupert's soldiers across the meadow, Banners blowing and lovelocks streaming, Riding back from the long ago.
And in my dreams they still are riding, Victor or vanquished, riding down; Now with the roses strewn before them-- Now with the darkness gathering o'er them-- Rupert's soldiers, forever riding Through the streets of Newbury town.
A CHRISTMAS HYMN
No room for Thee, O Baby Jesukin, No room within the inn; Only the stable door is standing wide, And there inside The ox and ass their patient foreheads bow Before Thee now.
No room for Thee, O little Lord of all, In cottage or in hall; Yet o'er Thy stable angel voices sound Telling around To the wide world a Prince is born to them In Bethlehem.
No room for Thee--yet the wise Kings have sped To kneel beside Thy bed, Offering their gifts, myrrh, frankincense, and gold, To Thee to hold; And all the angel armies of the air Are gathered there.
No room for Thee--yet the wide earth is Thine, And this poor heart of mine; Though oft Thy Hand has tried its doors in vain, Yet come again; Wide open now it stands--O Light of Light, Enter to-night.
THE SHEPHERDS' SONG
We be silly shepherds, Men of no renown, Guarding well our sheepfolds Hard by Bethlehem town; Baby Jesus, guard us all, Cot and sheepfold, bower and stall.
Wild the wind was blowing, Sudden all was still, Laughter soft of angels Rang from hill to hill. Baby Jesus, Thou wast born Ere that midnight paled to morn.
Seek we now Thy presence With our gifts of love; Felix brings a lambkin, I will give a dove. Baby Jesus, small and sweet, Lo, we lay them at Thy feet.
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
Just a little baby lying in a manger, God of Gods and Light of Lights, the mighty King of Kings, Hark! the choiring angels chant their glad evangels, All the air is pulsing with the music of their wings.
Just a little baby on Mary's breast that bore Him, Helpless feet, and clinging hands, and lips that knew no word, And the darkness ringing with the angels' singing, Sounding through the solemn night, "All glory to the Lord."
Just a little baby wrapped in swaddling clothing-- All the earth forever thrills rejoicing in that birth, Through the centuries flying still hears those angels crying, "Glory be to God on high, and peace, goodwill to earth."
Lord, from this prison-house that we have built, This dark abode of pain and misery, Failure and guilt, We stretch our hands, we stretch our hands to Thee, Lord, set us free.
O Lord, Thou knowest all--Thou knowest well The groping hands, the eyes that would not see, The feet that fell; Yet are we fain--are fain to come to Thee, Lord, set us free.
Bitter the chains that we have borne so long, The chains of sin we wove so heedlessly; Lo, Thou art strong, Out of the deeps we cry--we cry to Thee, Lord, set us free.
THE CRY OF THE DAMNED
Have you no pity for us?--You, who stand Within that Heaven that we may never win, Who know the golden streets of that fair land Our weary feet are fain to be within. Have you no ruth for us, who must abide In the great horror of the night outside?
We, too, once knew of laughter and delight, Who now must walk these weary roads of pain; Our hearts were pure as yours, our faces bright, In that glad life we may not know again; We might have gained your Heaven too--even we Who dwell with madness and with memory.
Within the pleasant pastures where your feet Stray, comes there never thought of our distress? Do our wails never mar your music sweet? Our parched throats change your draught to bitterness? Your chance was ours--we lost it; yes, we know Ours was the fault--but, is it easier so?
Yet was it ours?--The dazzled eyes and blind, The wills that knew, but could not hold the good, The groping feet, that failed the path to find, The wild desires that filled the tainted blood? Have you no ruth, who those bright barriers crossed, For us, who saw them open--and are lost?
OUR LADY OF REMEMBRANCE
She stoops to us from her dim recess With weary and wistful eyes; She has grown so tired of the censer's swing, Of the white-robed choir and the songs they sing, Of the priest's pale hand, upraised to bless, And the feast and the sacrifice.
They bow to her as the Mother blest Of the great and awful God; But her heart holds dearest His early years, The childish laughter, the childish tears, Ere His feet had the road of sorrows pressed, Or the way to the cross had trod.
Her thoughts go back to the days of yore-- Away from the garish light, And the organ's droning melody, To the starry shores of Galilee, To the vines that shaded her cottage door, And the hush of the Eastern night.
So she bends to us from her dim recess With weary and wistful eyes, And turns away from the tapers' light To dream of the cool and the hush of night, From the priest's pale hand, upraised to bless, To the starry Eastern skies.
MAID MARY
The shadows darkened along the shore Of the Lake of Galilee; What steps were those, as the twilight fell? Lo, God's great angel, Gabriel: "Hail, blessed of God!" spake he.
THE TWO CROWNS
The young King rode through the City street, So gallant, gay and bold; There were roses strewn 'neath his horse's feet, His brows were bound with gold, And his heart was glad for his people's cheers Along his pathway rolled.
Glad was his heart and bright his face, For life and youth were fair; And he rode through many a pleasant place-- Broad street and sunny square-- Till he came to the market-place and saw A crucifix stand there.
Hushed were the crowd's exultant cries, To awe-struck silence grown; For they saw the young King's laughing eyes Grow grave beneath his crown, As the crown?d King looked up, for lo! A crown?d King looked down.
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