Bob-Thin Or the poorhouse fugitive: By W. J. Linton: Illustrated by T. Sibson-- W. B. Scott-- E. Duncan-- W. J. Linton |
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THE SONG |
 | Bob-Thin |  |
37
THE SONG
Beautiful is the human land
Since Love returned home,
To build with subtlest art
In every boundless heart
His high imperial palace, heaven-spann'd,
Whence he may never roam.
Since Love returned home,
To build with subtlest art
In every boundless heart
His high imperial palace, heaven-spann'd,
Whence he may never roam.
Bountiful is our Earth,
For Love hath laid his hand
Under her head, and she,
Embraced voluptuously,
And wonder-joy'd, unto a strange and grand
And gentle life gives birth.
For Love hath laid his hand
Under her head, and she,
Embraced voluptuously,
And wonder-joy'd, unto a strange and grand
And gentle life gives birth.
Heaven-like is our home:
For Love hath blessed Hope,
And given his own pinions unto Toil;
And Joy is as a splendor whose sole foil
Is younger Joy; and Genius hath full scope
To build the Eternal Dome.
For Love hath blessed Hope,
And given his own pinions unto Toil;
And Joy is as a splendor whose sole foil
Is younger Joy; and Genius hath full scope
To build the Eternal Dome.
And happiness is ours;
And over us the spray
Of Time breaks tunefully,
Baptizing us with glee
By God's own hand; and evermore our way
Is strown with flowers.
And over us the spray
Of Time breaks tunefully,
Baptizing us with glee
By God's own hand; and evermore our way
Is strown with flowers.
| Bob-Thin | |