This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
godsends.
173
GODSENDS.
NOT the windfall makes us rich,
But the slowly ripened fruit,
Full of sun-warmed nectar, which
Drops, a patient need to suit.

Mean is every bauble brought,
Favor of the mean to buy.
Offer us no gift unfraught
With the largeness of the sky.

Offer but the breadth of love;
Narrower boon is none at all.
Search for us the deeps above;
Not the soil where earth-worms crawl.

Give the glory of a flower;
Radiant leaf-bough; blooming thorn;
Light that seas and mountains shower;
Rosy cheer of days new-born.