Each day, upon my daily round, I find myself on holy ground – The morning-glories on my fence Inspire quiet reverence. Just one small, tender seedling grew, And now, this miracle in blue. A robin in the apple tree Sings out his glad doxology. I hear the pure, unsullied joy Of laughter from a little … Continue reading
When the hours of Day are numbered, and the voices of the Night Footsteps of Angels Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight; Then the forms of the departed enter the open door; The beloved, the tue-hearted, Come to visit me once more.