 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
305
THE HIDDEN MANNA
A tale of lonely grief he told,
Of shattered life and dull despair;
And as he spoke a mist unrolled,
And angels, sorrowful and fair,
Cool leaves of healing trees did hold.
Of shattered life and dull despair;
And as he spoke a mist unrolled,
And angels, sorrowful and fair,
Cool leaves of healing trees did hold.
Ah me, 'twas I, not he, espied
Those proffering hands, that healing tree
Beside the bitter spring, beside
The silent wells of agony—
And I, not he, was satisfied.
Those proffering hands, that healing tree
Beside the bitter spring, beside
The silent wells of agony—
And I, not he, was satisfied.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |