Poem by Thomas Edward Brown

Specula

When He appoints to meet thee, go thou forth—  
 It matters not  
If south or north,  
 Bleak waste or sunny plot.  
Nor think, if haply He thou seek’st be late,          
 He does thee wrong.  
To stile or gate  
 Lean thou thy head, and long!  
It may be that to spy thee He is mounting  
 Upon a tower,        
Or in thy counting  
 Thou hast mista’en the hour.  
But, if He comes not, neither do thou go  
 Till Vesper chime.  
Belike thou then shalt know
 He hath been with thee all the time.

1. Braddan Vicarage
2. Salve!
3. I Bended unto Me a Bough
4. Ibant Obscuræ
5. Land, Ho!

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