Henry Alford Poems

My hand is lonely for your clasping, dear;
My ear is tired waiting for your call.
I want your strength to help, your laugh to cheer;
...

Again the solemn season--and again
That bleeding Brow, those wounded Hands and Feet--
Again that piercèd Side my vision meet;
...

Here are the brows of Quantock, purple--clad
With lavish heath--bloom: there, the banks of Tone.
Where is that woman, love--forlorn and sad,
...

Tell me, thou mild and melancholy bird,
Whence learnedst thou that meditative voice?
For all the forest--passages rejoice,
...

Saviour of them that trust in Thee,
Once more, with supplicating cries,
We lift the heart and bend the knee,
And bid Devotion's incense rise.
...

Say wilt thou think of me when I'm away,
Borne from the threshold and laid in the clay,
Past and forgotten for many a day?
...

The calm of blessed Night
Is on Judaea's hills;
The full--orbed moon with cloudless light
Is sparkling on their rills:
...

My own dear country, thy remembrance comes
Like softly--flowing music on my heart;
With thy green sunny hills, and happy homes,
...

Speak thou the truth. Let others fence,
And trim their words for pay:
In pleasant sunshine of pretence
...

The stars are clear and frosty, and the Earth
Is laid in her first sleep, secure and calm;
The glorious works of God, as at the first,
...