Sunday Letters
respite from her thrilling toil
The Bird her punctual music brings And lays it in its place— It's place is in the Human Heart And in the Heavenly Grace— What respite from her thrilling toil Did Beauty ever take— But Work...
respite from her thrilling toil
The Bird her punctual music brings And lays it in its place— It's place is in the Human Heart And in the Heavenly Grace— What respite from her thrilling toil Did Beauty ever take— But Work...
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...