#EnglishWriters
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,
They died that we might live,— Hail!—And Farewell! —All honour give To those who, nobly striving, nobl… That we might live!
Curly head, and laughing eyes,— Mischief that all blame defies. Cricket,—footer,—Eton-jacket,— Everlasting din and racket. Tennis,—boating,—socks and ties,—
I know! I know!— The ceaseless ache, the emptiness,… The pang of loss,— The strength that sinks beneath so… “—Heedless and careless, still the…
(As earnestly as any I crave the victory of Right over this madness of Insensate Might against which we are contending. As certainly as any I would, if that were conceivably poss...
Devils’ work! Devils’ work, my masters! Britain, your hands are red! You may close your heart, but you… This terrible fact,—We—kept—the—T…
Just do your best, And leave the rest To Him who gave you Life,— And Zeal for Labour,—
Hello! Hello! Are you there? Are you there? Ah! That you? Well,— This is just to tell you That there’s trouble in the air...
Who are the Makers of Wars? The Kings of the earth. And who are these Kings of the ea… Only men—not always even men of wo… But claiming rule by right of birt…
The Golden Rose is blowing still, Is growing still, is glowing still… In lonely vale, on lordly hill, The Golden Rose is glowing still;… If only you can find it!
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
Art thou lonely, O my brother? Share thy little with another! Stretch a hand to one unfriended, And thy loneliness is ended. So both thou and he
To stand— A dust-speck, facing the infinitud… Of Thine unfathomable dome, a nig… To stand full-face to Thy High M… Thy myriad worlds in solemn watchf…
Thank God for Peace! Up to the sombre sky Rolled one great thankful sigh, Rolled one great gladsome cry— The soul’s deliverance of a mighty…
When, with bowed head, And silent-streaming tears, With mingled hopes and fears, To earth we yield our dead; The Saints, with clearer sight,