poems by mary baker eddy
35
O take me to thy bower! Beguile the lagging hours of weariness With strain which hath strange power To make me love thee as I love life less!
From mortal consciousness Which binds to earth—infirmity of woe! Or pining tenderness— Whose streams will never dry or cease to flow;
An aching, voiceless void, Hushed in the heart whereunto none reply, And in the cringing crowd Companionless! Bird, bear me through the sky!
Written more than sixty years ago for the New Hampshire Patriot.
