When first I saw thy soul-deep eyes, My heart yearned to thee instantly, Strange longing in my soul did rise; I cannot tell the reason why, But I must love thee till I die. II. The sight of thee hath well-nigh grown As needful to me as the light; I am unrestful when alone, And my heart doth not beat aright Except it dwell within thy sight. III. And yet--and yet--O selfish love! I am not happy even with thee; I see thee in thy brightness move, And cannot well contented be, Save thou should'st shine alone for me. IV. We should love beauty even as flowers-- For all, 'tis said, they bud and blow, They are the world's as well as ours-- But thou--alas! God made thee grow So fair, I cannot love thee so! A FEELING. The flowers and the grass to me Are eloquent reproachfully; For would they wave so pleasantly Or look so fresh and fair, If a man, cunning, hollow, mean, Or one in anywise unclean, Were looking on them there? No; he hath grown so foolish-wise He cannot see with childhood's eyes; He hath forgot that purity And lowliness which are the key Of Nature's mysteries; No; he hath wandered off so long From his own place of birth, That he hath lost his mother-tongue, And, like one come from far-off lands, Forgetting and forgot, he stands Beside his mother's hearth. THE LOST CHILD. I. I wandered down the sunny glade And ever mused, my love, of thee; My thoughts, like little children, played, As gayly and as guilelessly. II. If any chanced to go astray, Moaning in fear of coming harms, Hope brought the wanderer back alway, Safe nestled in her snowy arms. III. From that soft nest the happy one Looked up at me and calmly smiled; Its hair shone golden in the sun, And made it seem a heavenly child. IV. Dear Hope's blue eyes smiled mildly down, And blest it with a love so deep, That, like a nursling of her own, It clasped her neck and fell asleep. THE CHURCH. I. I love the rites of England's church; I love to hear and see The priest and people reading slow The solemn Litany; I love to hear the glorious swell Of chanted psalm and prayer, And the deep organ's bursting heart, Throb through the shivering air. II. Chants, that a thousand years have heard, I love to hear again, For visions of the olden time Are wakened by the strain; With gorgeous hues the window-glass Seems suddenly to glow, And rich and red the streams of light Down through the chancel flow. III.