 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
134
LOVE.
“Oh, Winter Land,” he said,
“Thy right to be I own,
God leaves thee not alone,
And if the fierce winds blow
O'er thy wastes of rock and snow,
And at thy iron gates,
Thy ghostly iceberg waits,
Thy homes and hearts are dear,
God's love and man's are here.
“Thy right to be I own,
God leaves thee not alone,
And if the fierce winds blow
O'er thy wastes of rock and snow,
And at thy iron gates,
Thy ghostly iceberg waits,
Thy homes and hearts are dear,
God's love and man's are here.
“Thy sorrow o'er the sacred dust,
Is sanctified by hope and trust,
Still, whereso'er it goes,
Love makes its atmosphere;
Its flowers of Paradise,
Take root in the eternal ice,
And bloom through polar snows.”
Is sanctified by hope and trust,
Still, whereso'er it goes,
Love makes its atmosphere;
Its flowers of Paradise,
Take root in the eternal ice,
And bloom through polar snows.”
| A little book of tribune verse | |