 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
ORWELL
I stand on the shore of the lake,
Where the small wave ripples and frets;
Oh the land has its weeds, and the lake has its reeds,
And the heart has its vain regrets.
Where the small wave ripples and frets;
Oh the land has its weeds, and the lake has its reeds,
And the heart has its vain regrets.
Hark! how the skylarks sing,
Far up about God's own feet,
And the click of the loom is in each little room,
Of the long, bare village street.
Far up about God's own feet,
And the click of the loom is in each little room,
Of the long, bare village street.
Yonder the old home stands,
With the little grey kirk behind;
There are children at play on the sunny brae,
And their shouts come down the wind,
With the little grey kirk behind;
There are children at play on the sunny brae,
And their shouts come down the wind,
With the smell of the old sweet flowers
We planted there long ago;
And the red moss-rose still buds and blows
By the door, where it used to grow.
We planted there long ago;
And the red moss-rose still buds and blows
By the door, where it used to grow.
All of it still unchanged,
Yet all so changed to me;
For love then was sweet, and its bliss complete,
And there was no cloud to see.
Yet all so changed to me;
For love then was sweet, and its bliss complete,
And there was no cloud to see.
But the light is quenched and gone
That brightened the place of yore,
And all the suns and the shining ones
Shall bring back that light nevermore.
That brightened the place of yore,
And all the suns and the shining ones
Shall bring back that light nevermore.
Ah me! for the shore and the lake
Where the small wave ripples and frets!
The land has its weeds, and the lake has its reeds,
And the heart has its vain regrets.
Where the small wave ripples and frets!
The land has its weeds, and the lake has its reeds,
And the heart has its vain regrets.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |