NO HELP.
When will the flowers grow there? I cannot tell.
Oh, many and many a rain will beat there first,
Stormy and dreary, such as never fell
Save when the heart was breaking that had nursed
Something most dear a little while, and then
Murmured at giving God his own again.
Oh, many and many a rain will beat there first,
Stormy and dreary, such as never fell
Save when the heart was breaking that had nursed
Something most dear a little while, and then
Murmured at giving God his own again.
The woods were full of violets, I know;
And some wild sweet-briers grew so near the place:
Their time is not yet come. Dead leaves and snow
Must cover first the darling little face
From these wet eyes, forever fixed upon
Your last still cradle, O most precious one!
And some wild sweet-briers grew so near the place:
Their time is not yet come. Dead leaves and snow
Must cover first the darling little face
From these wet eyes, forever fixed upon
Your last still cradle, O most precious one!
Is he not with his Father? So I trust.
Is he not His? Was he not also mine?
His mother's empty arms yearn toward the dust.
Heaven lies too high, the soul is too divine.
Is he not His? Was he not also mine?
His mother's empty arms yearn toward the dust.
Heaven lies too high, the soul is too divine.
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