16
poems by mary baker eddy
And thou, gentle cypress, in evergreen tears,
Art constant and hopeful though winter appears.
My heart hath thy verdure, it blossoms above;
Like thee, it endureth and liveth in love.
Art constant and hopeful though winter appears.
My heart hath thy verdure, it blossoms above;
Like thee, it endureth and liveth in love.
Ambition, come hither! These vaults will unfold
The sequel of power, of glory, or gold;
Then rush into life, and roll on with its tide,
And bustle and toil for its pomp and its pride.
The sequel of power, of glory, or gold;
Then rush into life, and roll on with its tide,
And bustle and toil for its pomp and its pride.
The tired wings flitting through far crimson glow,
Which steepeth the trees when the day-god is low;
The voice of the night-bird must here send a thrill
To the heart of the leaves when the winds are all still.
Which steepeth the trees when the day-god is low;
The voice of the night-bird must here send a thrill
To the heart of the leaves when the winds are all still.
'Mid graves do I hear the glad voices that swell,
And call to my spirit with seraphs to dwell;
They come with a breath from the verdant springtime,
And waken my joy, as in earliest prime.
And call to my spirit with seraphs to dwell;
They come with a breath from the verdant springtime,
And waken my joy, as in earliest prime.
