| The Glory of the Common Life |
Chapter 5 |
Page 8 |
“The lark’s on the wing,
The morning’s at seven,
The hillside’s dew pearled,
God’s in his heaven,
All’s right with the world.”
He Calls Us Friends
The world remembers, in that year
A nation’s splendid victory;
The year I first beheld your face
Is all it means to me.
Another year. How could I reck
War, famine, earthquake, aught beside?
My heart knows only one event–
It was the year you died.
When, Lord, shall I be fit–when wilt
Thou call me friend?
Wilt Thou not one day, Lord?
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