 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
SPRINGS IN THE DESERT.
And there is joy no music can express,When in the empty channels of the heart
New springs of love from unknown sources start;
When all the desert-land of selfishness
That, parched and shrivelling in its own distress,
Sent not a drop to cheer the neighboring waste,—
Breaks into song, and, brimmed with happy haste,
Pours rill to rill, a suffering soil to bless.
O silent, burning hearts! of lonely things
Your lot is far the mournfullest, the worst.
But when your sands with cooling waters burst,
Each thought in welcome of that wonder sings,
“Spring up, O well! from God the fountain flows
That makes the desert blossom as the rose!”
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |