(PART II) - MISCELLANY
Books by Mary Baker Eddy
Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer.
Was that fold for the lambkin soft
Where the weary and earth-stricken
lay down their woes, -
When the fountain and leaflet are frozen and
And the mountains more friendless, - their
home is not here?
When the herd had forsaken, and left them
From the green sunny slopes of the woodland
Where the music of waters had fled to the sea,
And this life but one given to suffer and be?
Was it then thou didst call them to banish
And the harpstring, just breaking, reecho
To a strain of enchantment that flowed as
Where they waited to welcome the murmur
Oh, there's never a shadow where sunshine
And never the sunshine without a dark spot;
Yet there's one will be victor, for glory and
Without heart to define them, were only a
Lynn, Mass., February 19, 1868.
(c) Copyright 1998 -
Published by Cygni Communications Ltd. North Vancouver, Canada