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| II. |
 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
My Welcome.
I have waited for thy coming, love,
As the song-bird waits for spring,
Ere the echo of his merry lay
Makes the forest arches ring;
But when the spring is gone, love,
And summer's glory fills,
How musical the hush, love,
Between the shadowy hills.
As the song-bird waits for spring,
Ere the echo of his merry lay
Makes the forest arches ring;
333
And summer's glory fills,
How musical the hush, love,
Between the shadowy hills.
I have waited for thy coming, love,
Yet bring to greet thee near,
Nor laugh, nor words, nor carol gay,
But stillness and a tear;
But if I know thy heart, love,
And if thou readest mine,
This welcome is the best, love,
The truest, fondest sign.
Yet bring to greet thee near,
Nor laugh, nor words, nor carol gay,
But stillness and a tear;
But if I know thy heart, love,
And if thou readest mine,
This welcome is the best, love,
The truest, fondest sign.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |