 | The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard |  |
[What harmonious is with thee]
What harmonious is with thee,O Universe! is so with me,
Nothing too early, or too late,
That is at thy appointed date.
Everything is fruit to me,
Which thy seasons, Nature, bring:
All things from thee, and all in thee,
To thee returneth everything.
“Dear city of Cecropia,”
The poet said its streets who trod:
Wilt thou not say—be wise and say—
“Dear city of the living God!”
| The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard | |