(PART II) - MISCELLANY
Books by Mary Baker Eddy

LINES
page 857


LINES



Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer.
                                        - Moore.

Was that fold for the lambkin soft
     virtue's repose,
Where the weary and earth-stricken
     lay down their woes, - 
When the fountain and leaflet are frozen and
     sere,
And the mountains more friendless, - their
     home is not here?

When the herd had forsaken, and left them
     to stray
From the green sunny slopes of the woodland
     away;
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
     all pain,
And the harpstring, just breaking, reecho
     again
To a strain of enchantment that flowed as
     the wave,
Where they waited to welcome the murmur
     it gave?

PO 42



Oh, there's never a shadow where sunshine
     is not,
And never the sunshine without a dark spot;
Yet there's one will be victor, for glory and
     fame,
Without heart to define them, were only a
     name!

Lynn, Mass., February 19, 1868.


PO 43




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