Thomas Hill Poems

In a low and ill-thatched hut,
Stretched on a floor of clay,
With scanty clothing round her wrapped,
...

Thou knowest, O God, my griefs,
Thou see’st my bitter tears,
Thou knowest all my sufferings past,
And my foreboding fears.
...

A TRUE TALE.

Covered with ashes the little girl lay
In a cellar’s darkest part,
...

Not in a humble manger now,
Not of a lowly virgin born,
Announced to simple shepherd swains,
That watch their flocks in the early morn;
...

Hark! What glad voices are joyfully ringing
Through the stillness of morn o’er the yet sleep-
ing earth!
...