Page:Roses in Rain, by Lilian Wooster Greaves, 1910.pdf/22

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The everlasting miracle is being wrought
The corns of wheat that, perishing ’neath
crumbled clods had lain,
Have risen to yield their sixty-fold ; and the
bare and sandy plain
In happy resurrection smiles, a field of
waving grain!
Thus many a lonely heart
Our Lord hath set apart;
Hath called it for His own,
Hath had it tilled and sown ;
And while for him it yieldeth glad
It findeth for itself eternal peace.


But oh! the fairy forest land, which lilce a
laughing maid
In flower-embroidered draperies is daintily
The trees that stand like stalwart sons—roust