1 82 Idylls of the Field. 



for us no guiding star lights up the winter midnight, 

 still there sounds for all the message of the angels — 



' Oh, brother, wouldst thou hear the strain ? 



Let go the lust of gold ; 

 Let go the passions fierce and vain ; 



Let go the sins of old. 

 Thine eyes shall see, thine ears shall hear, 

 God and His angels hovering near.' 



THE END. 



Elliot Stock, Paternoster Row, London. 



