THE DOVE
It lay in the street wounded and bleeding
The passers-by scarcely heeding
The piteous appeal of Love.
Baring its breast as the dove
(To awaken the sleeper!)
The passers-by scarcely heeding
The piteous appeal of Love.
Baring its breast as the dove
(To awaken the sleeper!)
The dove cannot ever stay,
But with the noon of day,
Will fly from whence her healing came—
And there are no more lame.
But with the noon of day,
Will fly from whence her healing came—
And there are no more lame.
So dear children in the street
Skipping along with careless feet,
Let us minister of our love
To the wounded stricken dove.
Skipping along with careless feet,
Let us minister of our love
To the wounded stricken dove.
What the dove desired to do
Was to awaken me and you,
Was to awaken me and you,
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