It's surely summer. for there's a swallow: Come one swallow, his mate will follow, The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.

O passing angel, speed me with a song, a melody of heaven to reach my heart and rouse me to the race and make me strong.

My heart is breaking for a little love

It is not the deed we do Though the deed be never so fair, But the love that the dear Lord looketh for, Hidden with lovely care In the heart of the deed so fair.

Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I but when the trees bow down their heads, the wind is passing by.

Why one day in the country Is worth a month in town; Is worth a day and a year Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion That days drone elsewhere.

Rest, rest at the heart's core . . . till joy shall overtake.