. The long ago. —the great white blossoms, and the queerlittle yellow-and-black ones. Like a bright-eyed sprite the tiny marsh-wrenflitted among the rushes, and the musk-rat builtstrange reed-castles at the waters edge. The lace-v/inged dragon-fly following our boatdarted from side to side, or poised in air, or alightedon the dripping blade of our paddle when it restedfor a moment across our knees. Among the grasses the wind-harps played weirdmelodies which only Boyhood could interpret. In this place The River sang its love-songs, andsent forth an answering note to the vast harmonious blending
. The long ago. —the great white blossoms, and the queerlittle yellow-and-black ones. Like a bright-eyed sprite the tiny marsh-wrenflitted among the rushes, and the musk-rat builtstrange reed-castles at the waters edge. The lace-v/inged dragon-fly following our boatdarted from side to side, or poised in air, or alightedon the dripping blade of our paddle when it restedfor a moment across our knees. Among the grasses the wind-harps played weirdmelodies which only Boyhood could interpret. In this place The River sang its love-songs, andsent forth an answering note to the vast harmonious blending of blue sky and golden day and Incense-heavy air and the glad songs of birds. And here at this tranquil bend The River seemedto be the self-same river of the old, loved hymn wesang so often in the Little Church With The WhiteSteeple—that river which flows by the throne ofGod; fulfilling the promise of the ancient prophetof prophets and bringing peace . . like ariver, and glory . . like a flowing Christmas 4 4 4 4
Size: 2363px × 1058px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury190, bookdecade1910, bookidlongago01wrig, bookyear1916
