Sunshine and air! warmness and spring! Merrily, merrily! Back to its cell each weary thing, Wearily, wearily! And the heart so withered, and dry, and old, Most at home in the cloister cold. Thou on thy knees at the vespers' call, Wearily, wearily; I looking up on the darkening wall, Wearily, wearily; The chime so sweet to the boat at sea, Listless and dead to thee and me! Then to the lone couch at death of day, Wearily, wearily; Rising at midnight again to pray, Wearily, wearily; And if through the dark those eyes looked in, Sending them far as a thought of sin. And then, when thy spirit was passing away, Dreamily, dreamily; The earth-born dwelling returning to clay, Sleepily, sleepily; Over thee held the crucified Best, But no warm face to thy cold cheek pressed. And when my spirit was passing away, Dreamily, dreamily; The grey head lying 'mong ashes grey, Sleepily, sleepily; No hovering angel-woman above, Waiting to clasp me in deathless love. But now, beloved, thy hand in mine, Peacefully, peacefully; My arm around thee, my lips on thine, Lovingly, lovingly,-- Oh! is not a better thing to us given Than wearily going alone to heaven? BLESSED ARE THE MEEK, FOR THEY SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH. A quiet heart, submissive, meek, Father do thou bestow; Which more than granted will not seek To have, or give, or know. Each green hill then will hold its gift Forth to my joying eyes; The mountains blue will then uplift My spirit to the skies. The falling water then will sound As if for me alone; Nay, will not blessing more abound That many hear its tone? The trees their murmuring forth will send, The birds send forth their song; The waving grass its tribute lend, Sweet music to prolong. The water-lily's shining cup, The trumpet of the bee, The thousand odours floating up, The many-shaded sea; The rising sun's imprinted tread Upon the eastward waves; The gold and blue clouds over head; The weed from far sea-caves; All lovely things from south to north, All harmonies that be, Each will its soul of joy send forth To enter into me. And thus the wide earth I shall hold, A perfect gift of thine; Richer by these, a thousandfold, Than if broad lands were mine. THE HILLS. Behind my father's house there lies A little grassy brae, Whose face my childhood's busy feet Ran often up in play, Whence on the chimneys I looked down In wonderment alway. Around the house, where'er I turned, Great hills closed up the view; The town 'midst their converging roots Was clasped by rivers two; From one hill to another sprang The sky's great arch of blue. Oh! how I loved to climb their sides, And in the heather lie; The bridle on my arm did hold The pony feeding by; Beneath, the silvery streams; above, The white clouds in the sky.