Iv

On us, so fondly fain To tell what mother-pain Of Nature makes the rain. On us, so glad to show The sorrow of her snow, And all her winds that blow.

Us, who interpret right Her mystic rose of light, Her moony rune of night.

Us, who have utterance for Each warm, flame-hearted star That stammers from afar.

Who hear the tears and sighs Of every bud that dies While heav'n's dew on it lies.

Who see the power that dowers The wildwood bosks and bowers With musk of sap and flowers.

Who see what no man sees In water, earth, and breeze, And in the hearts of trees.

Turn not away Thy light, O God!--Our strength is slight! Help us who breast the height! Have mercy, Infinite! Have mercy!

Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, (late) Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press