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Sungleams

Rondeaux and Sonnets. By the Rev. Richard Wilton
Wilton, Richard
  
[epigraph]
  
[dedication]

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RONDEAUX.
  
To the Reader.
 I. 
I. “LUX MEA CHRISTUS;” CHRIST BE MY LIGHT.
 II. 
II. MY WINDOW BIRDS.
 III. 
III. SWAN AND CYGNETS.
 IV. 
IV. SNOWDROPS AND ACONITES.
 V. 
V. THE SNOWDROP DIES.
 VI. 
VI. THE THRUSH.
 VIII. 
VIII. THE CELANDINE.
 IX. 
IX. ANEMONES, OR WIND-FLOWERS.
 XI. 
XI. SWEET VIOLETS.
 XII. 
XII. SAD AND ALONE.
 XV. 
XV. O'ER UNKNOWN GRAVES.
 XVI. 
XVI. ON A WREATH OF FLOWERS FROM JERUSALEM.
 XVII. 
XVII. ON A PICTURE OF A PASSION-FLOWER UPON A CROSS.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. SWEET EYES OF BLUE.
 XXI. 
XXI. THE SEPULCHRE.
 XXII. 
XXII. ASCENSION-DAY.
 XXIII. 
XXIII “SPRING UP, O WELL!”
 XXIV. 
XXIV. SWEET MELMERBY.
 XXV. 
XXV. GLENCRIPISDALE.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. GOD WILL PROVIDE.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. TREASURE IN HEAVEN.
 XXIX. 
XXIX. SNOWDROPS IN SNOW.
 XXX. 
XXX. HEAVEN ON THE EARTH.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. “THE LORD IS THERE.”
 XXXII. 
XXXII. MOTHER AND CHILD.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. THE WOODBINE IN THE WOOD.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. MY LITTLE GIRLS.
 XXXV. 
XXXV. A DAUGHTER'S LOVE.
 XXXVI. 
XXXVI. TO FRIENDS ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THEIR WEDDING-DAY.
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII. TO FRIENDS SOJOURNING AMONG THE VAUDOIS.
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII. WHEN NATURE DROOPS;
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX. WHEN NATURE WAKES;
 XL. 
XL. SWEETNESS AND STRENGTH.
 XLI. 
XLI. “BE OF GOOD CHEER.”
 XLII. 
XLII. ON THE RECENT DISCOVERY OF AN ANGLO-SAXON BURYING-PLACE IN LONDESBOROUGH PARK.
 XLIII. 
XLIII. WOODS O' DUNMORE.
 XLIV. 
XLIV. ON MY HIGHLAND HARE.
 XLV. 
XLV. EAST WIND IN JUNE.
 XLVI. 
XLVI. MY SPECTACLES.
 XLVII. 
XLVII. A CUP OF TEA,
 XLVIII. 
XLVIII. THE SOOTHING LYRE.
 XLIX. 
XLIX. SOWING.
 L. 
L. ANOTHER YEAR.
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SONNETS.
 I. 
I. FROSTED TREES.
 III. 
III. THE SWAN.
 IV. 
IV. YEWBERRIES ON THE SNOW.
 VI. 
VI. A LADY'S CHAMBER.
 VIII. 
VIII. DUNMORE WOODS.
 IX. 
IX. HOPE IS THE WINDOW.
 X. 
X. THE SEASIDE IN WINTER.
 XI. 
XI. THE SOOTHING OF NATURE.
 XII. 
XII. A PRAYER IN TIME OF TROUBLE.
 XIII. 
XIII. “SOMETHING FOR EVERY DAY.”
 XIV. 
XIV. THE MAGNET AND THE MOON.
 XV. 
XV. GLIMPSES.
 XVI. 
XVI. PRE-INTIMATIONS.
 XVII. 
XVII. THE REFLECTION IN THE LAKE.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. A THOUGHT IN A GREENHOUSE.
 XIX. 
XIX. THE FIRSTBORN.
 XX. 
XX. “A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM.”
 XXI. 
XXI. ON A DOVE WHICH FLEW AGAINST MY STUDY WINDOW.
 XXII. 
XXII. A CONFIRMATION.
 XXV. 
XXV. ON AN OLD UPRAISED SEA-BEACH IN DUNMORE PARK.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. ON VISITING ARRAN AND LOCHGOIL-HEAD.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. ON THE MOUNTAINS ROUND LOCH SHIEL,
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. TO A FRIEND ABOUT TO RESIDE IN JERUSALEM.
 XXIX. 
XXIX. ON MY BLUE HARE,
 XXX. 
XXX. ON MY BLUE HARE BEGINNING TO TURN WHITE.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. A LESSON OF TRUST.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. SWEET THOUGHTS AND SAD THOUGHTS,
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. ON THE DEATH OF “BLUEY,” MY HIGHLAND HARE.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. ST. JOHN AND THE PARTRIDGE.
 XXXV. 
XXXV. THE BLACK ROCK;
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII. ON A GLEN WITHOUT A NAME
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII. ORANSAY;
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX. A FAREWELL TO GLENCRIPISDALE.
 XL. 
XL. ULLESWATER UNDER A CLOUD.
 XLI. 
XLI. ON SEEING SOME BIRDS IN WINTER
 XLII. 
XLII. AFTER READING TENNYSON'S “IDYLLS OF THE KING.”
 XLIII. 
XLIII. ON A FERN-LEAF
 XLIV. 
XLIV. ON AN AVENUE AT GRASBY VICARAGE,
 XLV. 
XLV. IN MEMORY OF CHARLES TENNYSON-TURNER,
 XLVI. 
XLVI. LAST LOOKS,
 XLVII. 
XLVII. ON THE SWORD OF A FRENCH NAVAL OFFICER,
 XLVIII. 
XLVIII. ON THE PROPOSED RESTORATION OF LONDESBOROUGH CHURCH
 XLIX. 
XLIX. THE MIRROR OF THE WORD
 L. 
L. THE CHURCH REOPENING WEEK.
  
VALEDICTORY.

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115

XLVIII. ON THE PROPOSED RESTORATION OF LONDESBOROUGH CHURCH

By the same Architect who restored George Herbert's Church at Bemerton.

He who with careful eye and skilful hand
Has propt the mouldering shrine where Herbert prayed,
That shrine by holy songs immortal made,
Whose incense has been blown o'er sea and land;
With the same artist touch and glance has scanned
These walls and piers and buttresses decayed,
That strengthened, and with beauty new arrayed,
Our House of God through rolling years may stand.
Oh, pleasing is the link which joins the name
Of one so gracious and so sweet with mine:
What though I cannot emulate the fame
Of his rare harp and inspiration fine;
His life I yet may copy, free from blame
And wholly spent in offices Divine.
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