. Under His shadow : the last poems of Frances Ridley Havergal. TINY TOKENS, THE murmur of a waterfallA mile away,The rustle when a robin lights Upon a spray,The lapping of a lowland stream On dipping boughs,The sound of grazing from a herd Of gentle echo from a wooded hill Of cuckoos quiver through the meadow grass At evening fall :—Too subtle are these harmonies For pen and rule,Such music is not understood By any school:But when the brain is overwrought. It hath a spell,Beyond all human skill and power, To make it well. io5 Under His ShadowT II. The memory of a kindly word
. Under His shadow : the last poems of Frances Ridley Havergal. TINY TOKENS, THE murmur of a waterfallA mile away,The rustle when a robin lights Upon a spray,The lapping of a lowland stream On dipping boughs,The sound of grazing from a herd Of gentle echo from a wooded hill Of cuckoos quiver through the meadow grass At evening fall :—Too subtle are these harmonies For pen and rule,Such music is not understood By any school:But when the brain is overwrought. It hath a spell,Beyond all human skill and power, To make it well. io5 Under His ShadowT II. The memory of a kindly word For long gone by,The fragrance of a fading flower Sent lovingly,The gleaming of a sudden smile Or sudden tear,The warmer pressure of the hand, The tone of hush that means *I cannot speak, But I have heard! The note that only bears a verse From Gods own word :—Such tiny things we hardly count As ministry ;The givers deeming they have shown Scant sympathy ;But, when the heart is overwrought, Oh who can tellThe power of such tiny things To make it
Size: 1258px × 1986px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, booksubjectchristi, bookyear1879
