Praise with elation, Praise every morning, God's re-creation Of the new day! - Eleanor Farjeon

Upon your shattered ruins where This vine will flourish still, as rare, As fresh, as fragrant as of old. Love will not crumble.

My harp and I a-wandering Went over Snowdon Mountain, From Anglesey to Swansea Bay It sang like any fountain.

Spinners in the Sun THEY SPIN FOR life that is their need, They spin for life that looks like greed, They are unconscious as they spin Of the stuff they labour in, Save as it serves dear life to feed. In the autumnal air their nets They hang, and as September wets The web with dew, or shines in it Until the film with light is lit, The eye that looks on it forgets The reason why the work began; The wondering eye of child and man Sees only that the spinners’ pains Caught beauty in its filmy chains.