Within the city Jesus walks the street, Or bides with friends, or in the temple stands, But shamed am I the Nazarene to meet, Seeing I bring to Him but empty hands.
The sun had long since sunk behind the hills-- The purple glory and the gleams of light Had faded from the sky, the dusk that stills A busy world was deep’ning into night.
“Son, look on me,” the sweetness of the tone Made Ammiel’s heart begin to thrill and glow, “Full well,” he said, “I know there is but One With simple words like these could move me so.” “Son, look on me,” and lifting up his eyes He looked on Jesu’s face, and knew ’twas He, Knelt down and kissed His feet, and would not rise Because of love and deep humility.
Up in the deep blue of the skies above Were kindled all the watchfires of the night The voice of Jesus, deep and filled with love, Said, “Come, bide with me till the morning’s light. At dawn my beggar asked not alms in vain, Since dawn, have I been debtor unto thee, All day thy gifts within my heart have lain, Fruit, oil, and wine, come through my poor to me.”
There’s not a leaf on the vine where you swing And the wind is chill and the sky is grey, But all undaunted you flutter and sing, “Ho, the first of May! Ho, the first of May!” There’s never a hint of yesterday’s frost, Of the hunger and cold and waiting long, Never a plaint over what you have lost Thrown into the notes of your happy song; The gladness is pressed in your bosom red, And the gloss is laid on your little head. I thank you for singing, robin to-day, For flaunting before me, jolly and bold, Chirping, “Ho! Ho! do you know it is May, Or are you so dull you have to be told?”
Now Margot, dinna flout me, O, dinna be unkind! Mayhap to do without me, A hardship you would find.
Ye haud yer head too high, lass, Ye haud yer head too high, What if I wad pass by, lass, Instead o’ lingerin’ nigh?
Ye canna quite forget, dear, The sunny days o’ yore, They haud our twa lives yet, dear,-- The days that are no more.
When in the warld sae wide, dear, One lesson we could spell-- When it was a’ our pride, dear, To love each other well.
When riches had na found ye-- My maid o’ tender face! Before yer pride had bound ye, An’ stolen a’ yer grace.