THE SPRING IS LATE.
91
She watched the homeless birds, the slow, sad spring,
The barren fields, and shivering, naked trees:
"Thus God has dealt with me, his child," she said,—
"I wait my spring-time, and am cold like these.
The barren fields, and shivering, naked trees:
"Thus God has dealt with me, his child," she said,—
"I wait my spring-time, and am cold like these.
"To them will come the fulness of their time;
Their spring, though late, will make the meadows fair
Shall I, who wait like them, like them be blessed?
I am His own,—doth not my Father care?"
Their spring, though late, will make the meadows fair
Shall I, who wait like them, like them be blessed?
I am His own,—doth not my Father care?"
