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THE WREN'S NEST.
Of Thy will, which forevermore on earth, in heaven, be done:
But the love that desperate clings
Unto these my precious things
In the beauty of the daylight, and the glory of the
But the love that desperate clings
Unto these my precious things
In the beauty of the daylight, and the glory of the
Ah, Thou still art calling, calling,
With a soft voice unappalling;
And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting years;
When Thou knockest, even so!
I will arise and go.—
What, my little ones, more violets?—Nay, be patient—mother hears.
With a soft voice unappalling;
And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting years;
When Thou knockest, even so!
I will arise and go.—
What, my little ones, more violets?—Nay, be patient—mother hears.
THE WREN'S NEST.
TOOK the wren's nest;—Heaven forgive me!
Its merry architects so small
Had scarcely finished their wee hall,
That, empty still, and neat and fair,
Hung idly in the summer air.
The mossy walls, the dainty door,
Where Love should enter and explore,
