Sunday Letters
I lift them up
Here, a little child I stand, -Heaving up my either hand: -Cold as paddocks though they be, -Here I lift them up to Thee, -For a benison to fall -On...
I lift them up
Here, a little child I stand, -Heaving up my either hand: -Cold as paddocks though they be, -Here I lift them up to Thee, -For a benison to fall -On...
there is no division
Not soon, as late as the approach of my ninetieth year, -I felt a door opening in me and I entered -the clarity of early morning. -One after another my...
there is no division
Not soon, as late as the approach of my ninetieth year, -I felt a door opening in me and I entered -the clarity of early morning. -One after another my...